Criminal minds
by nonoza
Summary: Cops profile like criminals. Wat if our favourite profilers had wound up on the wrong side of the law? In this fic the team are criminals and they're in prison. M/R centric. Slash. AN: chapter 7  with the right content  is the second half of chapter 6. It's short n may contain errors. Read and Review.
1. Chapter 1

**So I probably shouldn't be starting any stories but I couldn't resist. Morgan/Reid jailhouse love. This prison isn't strictly modelled after real ones.**

**ΩΩΩ**

**Ainsley State Correctional Facility houses 3821 prisoners. These are the important ones.**

**Prisoner number: 94R861 David Rossi Convicted May 12th 1994, 3 counts of Conspiracy to commit murder Sentence: Life in prison without the possibility of parole.**

**Prisoner number 02P501 Emily Prentiss Convicted August 4th 2002, 2 counts of first degree murder Sentence: Death**

**Prisoner number: 03H375 Aaron Hotchner Convicted January 29th 2003, Murder in the second degree Sentence: 20 years, up for parole in 12.**

**Prisoner number 06H842 Rodney Harris Convicted December 1st 2006, 4 counts of Murder in the second degree Sentence: Life imprisonment up for parole in 88 years.**

**Prisoner number 07M449 Derek Morgan Convicted April 23rd 2007, 14 counts of kidnapping and illegal imprisonment, Felony Manslaughter Sentence: 64 years, up for parole in 20.**

**Prisoner number 10L006 William Lamontagne Convicted November 30th 2010, Defeating the ends of justice Sentence: 10 years, up for parole in 6**

**Prisoner number 12B554 James Barfield Convicted February 22nd 2012, Grand larceny Sentence 5 years up for parole in 2**

**Prisoner number 12R430 Spencer Reid Convicted February 22nd 2012, Criminally negligent homicide, distribution of a controlled substance Sentence: 49 years, up for parole in 15 **

**JJ, Garcia and Lynch are guards**

**ΩΩΩ**

"Here comes the bus," Penelope looked out of the barred window.

"Oh joy," Kevin got out of his chair. It was his turn to receive the newcomers. "Break is over," he called over his shoulder to the others out of spite.

"If you hadn't decided to be an ass just then I'd have helped you collect the animals," Garcia called to him.

"Instead you get to walk around between their cells, enjoy," he sneered. Garcia and JJ made a sound of disgust and went to general population. The prisoners were in their cells but were about to be let out. "Open thirty two and forty," Lynch called as he entered Gen-Pop, "Morgan, Hotchner," he called and waited. The men exited their cells and went to meet the guard in silence. Kevin turned and the two followed him. Morgan and Hotchner were forces to be reckoned with on both sides of the bars but they didn't fuck around with the guards, at least not directly.

"12R430 Spencer Reid," Kevin called. A tall, skinny, nervous looking being stood from the hard bench and looked at the guard at an angle, like he didn't want the older man to see he was looking at him. "This is your sponsor, Aaron Hotchner. He'll help you get acclimated to life in a maximum security prison."

Hotch snorted. Great, he had to look after this tall glass of water for the next two weeks. "Snort all you want," Lynch leveled his eyes at him, "Just keep him out of trouble for the next two weeks."

"It's your show boss," Aaron gave him cold smile.

"12B554 James Barfield," Kevin called out. Up stood a tall lean black boy who could not possibly be eighteen. "This is your sponsor Derek Morgan," Lynch stopped there. "Move out," he motioned with his head.

"Sup Derek," James extended a hand. Derek just stood and glared for a moment. He'd run with the kid's older brother until the latter died in prison. This was infuriatingly tragic. He turned and followed Lynch.

"Hello," Spencer smiled tentatively at Hotchner.

"Don't smile," Aaron replied. Spencer's face fell. "This is prison, maximum security prison," the older man explained, "You're a slim kid with long hair and big brown eyes. Walking around here smiling is not something you should be doing."

Spencer kept quiet. There wasn't much he could do to stay out of that kind of trouble. "Rec Time," a guard announced and rang an annoying bell.

"Come on," Aaron tipped his head at Spencer, who obediently followed. "How old are you?" he had to ask.

"Twenty four," Reid answered, "You?"

"Ten years older than you," Hotch answered, "How long are you serving?"

"Forty nine years," Reid said grimly, "I'm up for parole in fifteen."

"What the hell could you have done to be shipped to this place for almost half a century?" Hotch wondered out loud. Spencer did not answer him. "This is your cell," Hotch stopped, "You're sharing with Morgan."

Reid entered the sad little room. The top bunk seemed unused so he put the pillow and the other things he'd been given there.

"The tour is far from over," Hotch said when Reid sat in a chair that was bolted to the floor. The young man stood and followed as Aaron walked out. Four feet out of the door and someone whistled at Spencer. He cowered towards Aaron. "He's a Jew," Hotch announced.

"I am?" Spencer asked in a small voice.

"That's Tobias Hankel," Hotch told him, "He and those fine men surrounding him are Nazis."

"Thanks," Spencer gave a small smile.

"Don't thank me. It might not work," Hotchner kept an impassive expression, "The Nazi's run the mail room so they smuggle contraband," he went back to being informative. Spencer wrapped his arms around his torso like that would keep the leader of the Nazis from making him his bitch. They walked through a door to the Rec Room. "The guy with the salt and pepper beard in the card game is David Rossi: Mob boss. The Italians are old school mafia. Officially they run the kitchen, in reality they run the biggest drug cartel in this place. In their spare time host poker games. From me to you, whether you fall into dept or you win big it doesn't matter. Pissing people off about their money in a room full of knives is always a bad idea."

Spencer scratched the inside of his elbow and breathed deeply through his nose. He could get into a lot of trouble here. "The guy sitting next to Rossi looking like the Terminator is his enforcer, Bosola. He's in the garbage business," Hotch exchanged a nod with Rossi.

"Garbage business?" Reid's brow furrowed.

"He kills people," Hotch clarified, "Moving on," they walked through to the gym.

"That's Morgan," Reid spotted him pumping iron.

"He's the leader of the home boys, or at least half of them," Hotch continued, "They run contraband. Over there is Rodney Harris. He leads the other half of the home boys. They run drugs."

"So half the black guys are in competition with the Nazis, the other half with the Italians. Wouldn't it be wiser to be united?" Reid tried to puzzle this place out.

"Morgan's against drugs," Hotch left the bad blood out of the explanation. He went about showing Reid the facilities. "Shower room," he pointed, "You don't go in there without me. Note: your survival is tied to me for a while but my protection order expires in two weeks. Find a way to keep from being raped by then."

Reid was already trying to find a way out of that one. It hadn't come to him yet so he was grateful he had time. "Who's that?" Reid asked when he saw a woman in a fenced in part of the prison.

"Emily Prentiss, death row inmate," Hotch informed him, "Two counts of first degree murder, seven year old boy and his nanny. She gets to walk around during Rec time, smoke and few other privileges you get when you come from power that don't come easy to death row."

A loud noise pierced the air. "Supper," Hotch told the kid.

"At four?" Reid squeaked.

"Yes at four, evening count is at five then you don't go outside your cell till morning count at six," Hotch made for the dining hall with Reid in tow.

"What are you supposed to do in a two by four for thirteen hours?" Spencer blurted.

"Time," Hotch replied. They walked in silence for a while.

"What do you run?" Spencer asked after chancing a glance at his sponsor.

"Nothing," Aaron answered, keeping his face impassive.

"You seem like something of a big shot," Spencer said. People, important people acknowledged him.

"I give sound legal advice," Hotch told him, "Some of the more influential prisoners practically have me on retainer."

"You're untouchable," Spencer mentally kicked himself for not going into law.

"There's no such thing in prison," Hotchner shook his head, "I do business with Morgan so I don't work with the Nazis. Naturally they want me dead but they can't afford to piss off the Italians. As soon as they find a way to kill me without having the trail lead back to them I'm getting shanked."

"You seem oddly calm," Spencer observed.

"Prison 101," Hotch picked up a tray and Reid followed suit, "You have to know, not fear, know that the very breath you're drawing could be your last. Accepting that might actually keep you alive."

Someone made kissing noises at Spencer, heightening his discomfort. "Come on," Hotch pulled Spencer out of his terrified little trance. "Remain standing," he advised then went over to sit in front of Rossi.

"Aaron, what can I do for you?" Rossi asked. Spencer noticed that Rossi wasn't eating the slop everyone else was.

"I'm babysitting for the fortnight," he tilted his head toward Reid.

"That looks set to be a difficult task," Rossi looked at the young man standing by his table. He didn't miss all the attention he'd been getting.

"I could use help," Aaron admitted.

"You have it," Rossi nodded.

"I'll leave you to your meal," Hotch nodded back. Rossi nodded farewell as Hotch left.

"I don't suppose this arrangement could be made permanent, could it?" Spencer looked pleadingly at Hotch.

"I was a prosecutor on the outside," Hotch told him, "First month here I was hospitalized six times. Being in a career where I was loathed by dangerous people I'd learned to defend myself but that doesn't matter in prison. It's a numbers game in here. Rossi has numbers and he warned me right off not to 'abuse his good nature'."

"I get it," Spencer nodded. He put a morsel of food in his mouth and almost gagged. "This is swill," he dropped his spoon.

"Yes it is," Hotch ate it anyway.

"Your girlfriend has fans," a man with a thick southern accent sat across from Reid and Hotchner.

"Will Lamontagne," Hotch pointed with his spoon.

"Nice to meet you," Spencer extended his hand.

"Aren't you teaching him anything?" Will asked his friend.

"Fresh fish have a predisposition to be polite," Hotch shrugged, "This place will get it out of him soon enough."

During the meal Reid was enlightened on the rest of the groups and gangs in the prison. He thought of joining one but he had to kill someone to be accepted into a gang so that was out. One death marking his soul was enough. The 'fairies', as they were called, had no joining fee but they cross dressed and Reid just knew he would be inviting trouble with that one. Also he was not about to divulge that was gay, not in here. If he could somehow be useful to a powerful person then he could be like Hotchner.

"How do you keep out of trouble?" Reid asked Will.

"I pay the hack in charge," he answered casually, "He looks so shocked it's comical," Will laughed.

"The guards are the dirtiest gang in this place," Hotch told him, "Don't fuck with their operations."

The more Reid heard the smaller, the more vulnerable he felt. When evening count rolled around he was so nervous he was ready to throw up. "Go stand in front of your cell," Hotch went up to their floor and stood in front of his own, "Move it."

Someone tripped Reid but he stumbled on to stand in front of his own cell. A guard walked by calling them out by their numbers. After that they were locked up for the night. "I don't know if you remember me from before, I'm Spencer Reid. Your friend Aaron Hotchner's my sponsor."

"Do I look friendly to you?" Derek glared, scaring Spencer into silence for the rest of the night. He crawled into bed and watched the ceiling, his heart pounding the entire time. What restless sleep he got was in his prison uniform on top of his blanket and even that was interrupted by nightmares of a eighteen year old girl dead on her bathroom floor.

"Count," a loud buzzer went off as he lay there drenched in sweat. And that was just the first day in fifteen to forty nine years.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: So I convicted Derek of felony manslaughter (something I'm not entirely sure exists but felony murder was excessive for my purposes) but I forgot to name the felony. Fourteen counts of kidnapping and illegal imprisonment. It's been added to the appropriate chapter but, being one of those people who skips straight to the latest update, I thought I should put it here as well. Thank you Nina for bringing the error to my attention. The rest of the sentences are deliberate though. They go with little stories of their own. To everyone else, thank you, thank you, thank you for the wonderful reviews. Yes, I'm easy. Now let's get to know the citizens of Ainsley State Correctional Facility.**

"JJ," Will whispered, coming out of the shadows.

"How did you get out here?" she looked around the empty hallway.

"I had to see you," he took her hand.

"Let go," she hissed.

"JJ," he pleaded.

"How many times do I have to say no to you Lamontagne?" she said in a low voice, "Tell me now so I can know how much longer this will last."

"Forever," he told her.

"Move," she grabbed the back of his neck and shoved him hard.

"Where are you taking me?" he asked as he walked in front of her.

"Back to Gen-Pop. Shut up and walk," she shoved him again. Will just smiled as he walked on. If JJ really wanted him to get lost she would be taking him to the fondly termed 'hole' or at least reporting him.

"JJ," he whispered at the gate.

"Officer Jareau," she corrected, "And if you say one more thing to me in a personal capacity I will throw you in the hole."

"I have work detail," he shelved what he really wanted to say, "Dress factory."

"Wipe that smile off your face or I'll do it for you,"she turned him around roughly. Will bit the inside of his cheek. He really was trying not to smile. It was just something he couldn't help around JJ.

Garcia pressed a button and let them in. "Welcome to the dress factory, where fashion goes to dessicate and mummify," she looked across the factory. Bland coloured cloths being made into bland clothes.

"Morning Garcia," JJ smiled. Will stopped in his tracks and just stared.

"Okay, close your mouth and get to work big boy," Garcia clapped her hands.

"Yes ma'am," Will nodded. Nobody understood why he'd chosen such a shitty assignment with no perks whatsoever. He needed a few shitty assignments because cons talk and he had to make the notion of him being in with a CO seem ridiculous.

"_Cute_," Penelope said when he was out of earshot.

"_Convict,_"JJ gave her a hard stare.

"There's no crime in looking cupcake," Penelope smiled.

"I'm due in the gym," Jennifer turned to leave. Penelope opened the electronic gate for her.

Ω

"Get your crap, we're going to take a shower," Hotch's head popped into Reid's cell. Spencer jumped as soon as he was called. He threw his towel over his shoulder and rushed to the door. "Take off your clothes," Hotch pushed him back into the cell.

"Um, I think I'll take them off in the shower room," Reid wrapped his arms around himself.

"I'm not walking through this prison in a towel because I like the attention. You take your uniform to the shower room. It will get stolen," Hotch leaned against the bars. Morgan walked to the bars, stood next to Aaron and looked through them at nothing in particular while Reid huddled in a corner and undressed. "What's eating you?" Hotch asked in a low voice, not looking directly at Derek.

"Nothing," Morgan lied.

"You like him?" Hotch asked.

"I don't know him," his friend replied, "I don't want to."

"The kid's safe for the next thirteen days. After that all bets are off," said Aaron, "You're his best chance at any sort of comfortable existence in this shit hole."

"Call to mind Riley Jenkins," Derek shot Hotch a look. There was silence. Riley was a tricky situation. The racial lines were bold and clear in prison so the relationship between Derek and Riley had been a secret one. When Rodney Harris found out and killed the boy, it had been impossible to retaliate. If he started an in-house war and Rodney revealed it was over a white boy he would not be the only one to suffer. He'd never be able to live with himself if he got his family dragged into a prison war.

"Ready," Spencer announced. His sponsor just turned and walked, Reid followed. The catcalls started.

"That's not going to get any better anytime soon, is it?" Spencer said as they walked. Aaron just shook his head. He hung up his towel when they got to the shower room.

"Move it Reid," the gruff man stepped under the spray. Spencer drew a breath then hung up his towel as well. He washed himself as quickly as he could then wrapped himself up again.

"Where can I get my hair cut?" he asked.

"Don't," Hotch said simply. Reid didn't argue or even ask for a reason. Hotch was looking out for him. If he was going to trust anyone in this place it would be this man.

"You're friends with Morgan, right?" Reid ventured.

"We do business," Hotch answered. Friend was not a term that easily passed the lips in prison.

"Do you know how I can get him to like me? Or at least not hate me?" Spencer looked scared and he was. He couldn't afford to have someone like Morgan hating him. Hotch thought for a second. Morgan dealt with attraction like a fifth grader, by being mean. "Aaron," Spencer pulled him out of his reverie.

"Hotch," he corrected automatically.

"Well?" Spencer was anxious. They were getting closer to his cell. He wanted an answer before they were in hearing range.

"Ignore him, he'll ignore you," was the only advice Aaron could offer the new kid. Something caught his eye. "Come here," Hotch took him by the elbow and pulled him into a corner out of view. Reid's hands started to shake. He bit his bottom lip nervously, all the while looking down and looking scared. "Calm down Reid I'm not looking for anything," Hotch assured. Spencer tucked his hair behind his ear and didn't change his posture. "What would you have to offer someone for protection?"

"Medical advice?" he said doubtfully, "I'm a doctor."

"Something cons don't get from the state," Hotch sighed.

"Besides what you're trying to avoid asking about? Nothing," Spencer shook his head.

"You're a good looking kid, something that's unfortunate in jail," Hotch shook his head, "You would be no use to a gang. Hankel has his eye on you. Between you, me and this wall, you want nothing to do with that Nazi fuck. Bosola seems to have a big smile for you. He's around the corner we're about to turn."

"Is he looking for me?" Spencer asked.

"No he just likes to stand aimlessly in my path," Hotch answered. He was frustrated. He'd volunteered as a sponsor six months into his sentence and every available fortnight after that like clockwork, more or less. No one was required to do it and it was a pain in the ass job but it went a long way when you were up for parole. Hotch's record was long and almost pristine.

"But you said two weeks," Spencer was afraid.

"That still rings true," Hotch promised, "But a fortnight from now your dick will be swinging in the wind. I don't think a scorned hitman is something you want to add to your worries."

"Move along Hotchner," Kevin passed them.

"Moving boss," Hotch started his way back to his cell. Reid turned the corner and walked right into Bosola. His soap fell out of his hands. The older man stepped on it before it could slide too far. Then he bent and picked it up. Hotch gave Reid a painful smile then walked away.

"You should be more careful," Bosola handed the soap over without standing up.

"I-I-I'm sorry," Reid curled his arm around his middle.

"Don't fret," Bosola stood and put the soap in the young man's hand, running his other hand up his arm. Spencer shivered. Bosola ran his hand across the inside of Reid's elbow. "Drugs kill," he said sternly.

"Believe me, I don't need to be told," Spencer's fear stopped in its tracks, disabled by guilt.

"Good," the blond man gave him a small smile. "Now let me walk you to your cell. You might not make it there looking like that," he looked over Reid's glistening form. Spencer's cheeks heated up.

"I'm Spencer," Reid was never one for silence.

"Spencer Reid," the other man said, "You're kind of famous."

"So are you," Reid replied, "Is Bosola your real name?"

"It is now," he smiled. Walking through the prison with Bosola was a strange experience, no whistles, no comments, no one even stared. There were glances, people looked out of the corners of their eyes but nothing like the stares he'd been getting. Spencer didn't know what to say to his escort so he reverted to nervously picking at his towel. "Are you afraid of me?" Bosola asked.

"Yes," Reid admitted.

"You don't have to be," the burly man told him. They stood there and looked at each other for a moment. "You're being assigned your work detail today," the older man spoke, "How would you like to work in the kitchen?"

"I don't think that would be wise," Reid's hand trailed down the back of his leg towards the marks that spotted the back of his knee.

"So you've heard about our dealings," the blond man tilted his head from one side to the other, "I'll keep you out of trouble," he smiled.

"That's very kind of you but I have no influence over my assignment," Spencer thin shoulders rose and fell.

"I have the strangest feeling that will sort itself out," Bosola smirked.

"Thank you?" Spencer was not quite sure if he should be grateful. Bosola chuckled a little at the doe eyed confusion. "I should go get dressed," the young doctor tightened his towel.

"I'll leave you to it," Bosola took that as his cue to leave, "See you around Spencer Reid."

"Um yeah," was Spencer's eloquent reply before he walked back to his cell.

Ω

"Where's your girlfriend?" Morgan asked as Hotch walked past his cell.

"Having a chat with Rossi's enforcer," Hotch spat.

"Didn't he cut the head off the last boy he got friendly with?" Morgan glared at his friend.

"And it still sits in a jar in the kitchen wall where he bricked it up during the renovation," Hotch sneered.

"I get the feeling you're angry at me for some reason," Morgan approached the bars.

"I sponsored that kid, I sponsored Jenkins, between Bosola and Rodney (who's gonna assume you're fucking him) there's a pretty good chance Reid ends up dead. I'm starting to take this personally," Hotch curled his a moist hand around a horizontal bar.

"And for some reason you're faulting me," Morgan glared.

"Weren't you going to kill Harris three months ago?" Hotch cut his eyes at Morgan.

"I've had more trouble than anticipated finding his replacement," Derek scratched his bald head.

"Why the hell would you want to replace that fuck?" Hotch's brow formed lines.

"Because if I don't his boys will want to join my crew," Morgan sighed, "They're not just dealers, they're users. Personal issues aside I can't have my soldiers detoxing when the guards try to shake us down by clamping down on the various trades for examples. Also, I need the right person to kill Rodney. See if the Nazis or the Italians or any other gang do it we'll be forced to retaliate, if someone from my crew does it there'll be an ugly family brawl, many will die and one of the aforementioned groups will kill whoever's left. It would be easy enough to convince a victim of his brutality to do it only there aren't any because now he's concentrating all his attention on me," Derek waved to Rodney Harris who was standing on the other tier watching him. Rodney smiled and nodded.

"If Reid dies my gig as a sponsor is done and three dead boys on my watch means I will never get paroled," Hotch named his stakes, "I don't like prison Morgan and the idea of eight more years in this particular prison makes my stomach turn so here's the deal: I'll find your assassin and get him to pull the trigger, you'll find the replacement drug slinger and take Reid under your protection until he's no longer such a novelty around here."

"I have no interest in the kid," Morgan folded his arms stubbornly.

"Then make him shine your shoes," Hotch wanted to roll his eyes. It was his habit to get as much information as he could on any prisoner he would have dealings with, starting with the details of their case. You could learn a lot from a man's crime. With Morgan there was a history of sexual abuse, as there was with many of the prisoners. In Morgan's case he'd broken the cycle. He hadn't become an abuser but he had a shitload of issues about his sexuality. Whatever else would happen he knew Derek would never force himself on the young man.

"I assume this is a two week plan," the dark man nodded.

"Beauty and brains," Hotch gave a thin smile.

"Fuck you," Derek flipped him off.

"I'll take that a yes," Hotch walked on. Reid came back to the cell. He took Hotch's advice and ignored Morgan. Who tried heartily to ignore the young man back but it was hard not to watch Reid as he dried asked himself, flipping his hair back and forth. Derek looked up and down Spencer's slick, defined body and groaned deeply causing Spencer to turn and look at him.

"What?" the dark man addressed him with open hostility. In his defence it was all he was used to

"Nothing," Reid turned away. _Why did I have to be stuck with an angry gangster?_ He thought as he turned away. Spencer bent over, wiping down the front of his legs. Morgan closed his eyes and placed his head in his hands.

Ω

"I'm waiting for your explanation," Rossi was speaking to Bosola but was looking intently at their chess game, "Just in case you're wondering why I haven't asked. I'm not waiting for you to speak first. I recognise that's one I'd never win."

"I wasn't hassling young Dr Reid, just introducing myself," Bosola smiled, thinking of the young man's slim figure. It was quiet again. Rossi sat up and looked the other man in the eye.

"We've been in business for about two decades now," the older man started, "I feel I've earned the right to ask. Are you homosexual or do you sleep with these boys for sport?" he moved his rook.

"I'm not sure," Bosola squinted, looking for his counter.

"What the hell does that mean?" the Italian man asked.

"It's not just about the sex but I wouldn't call it love either," Bosola moved his queen.

"You miss human contact," Rossi reasoned.

"I miss affection," the other man corrected.

"You know I can't go back on my word," the mob boss took the exposed queen, putting Bosola in check.

"I'm a simple man with simple needs and I have no problem following orders. I don't ask for much. Consider this an ask," Bosola put Rossi in checkmate. The leader of the pack toppled his king. That was the only answer he would give.

**Don't forget to review**


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: I can never resist when you ask so nicely.**

It was Reid's second week at Ainsley. It was going a little smoother than his first. Bosola's 'feeling' was spot on. He was allocated to kitchen duty. They call it an industry here and they pay you about ten dollars a week, which is a pittance but it's prison, as Hotch pointed out. His hair was in a net and the umpteenth drug deal was going on five feet from him. Reid's heart started to beat faster. He closed his eyes and walked away as fast as he could.

"Hey," Bosola grabbed his wrist roughly. Reid shrunk back. "That's the stove top," he pointed to the hot surface Spencer's hand was about to connect with.

"Thanks," the younger man gave a weak smile.

"The pantry is not a good place for you to hang out," the blond man said, "Dishing up is not a task you want either. In fact the only way you'll steer clear of the dealings around here is washing the dishes. Powder doesn't do well with water."

Spencer nodded his head, unable to talk. Bosola handed him a pair of gloves and he went to join his fellow dish washers. They all gave him this look he couldn't place. He'd gotten it back when he was taking stock in the pantry as well. He didn't ask, he probably didn't want to know. Non-Italians were a minority in the kitchen. Neglect was the best treatment they got from their fellow staff members.

Hotch had been assigned to cleaning, specifically cleaning death row. It was a small quarters with nine residents. The only female, Emily Prentiss, had a cell out of the way of the others, in its own corridor. Something to do with the constitution and her rights to privacy and blah blah blah. Hotch had been prepositioned for various unsavoury tasks by the males, a few had tried to reach through the bars and grab him. It wasn't uncommon for the citizens of death row to be excited by a new face. They barely got to see any.

Emily Prentiss was different, he noticed it right off. She was cool, aloof. Hotch disliked her the minute he found out he had to clean a part of the prison that was usually closed off just because she preferred a private room to hanging curtains. A guard opened and locked him in with his buckets, brooms, mops and detergents.

"Hello," Emily greeted him once the guard had walked away. Hotch was as unresponsive as he had been to the others destined for execution. "And I suppose you're also above talking to me," she rolled her eyes, "The guards I understand but you are not here for teaching boy scouts the wrong knots."

"I'm not here for killing an actual boy scout either," he pulled out a broom and started sweeping. The wonderful thing about closed off parts of a prison is that they never get cleaned.

"We all have blood on our hands," she pulled out a cigarette and lit up.

"Some of us have remorse," he continued sweeping, not looking at her.

"What makes you so sure that I don't?" the brunette put her arms through the bars and leaned on them.

"The pictures you took," he glared at her. She swallowed uncomfortably, "Not telling a father where you buried his son? That is unimaginably cruel," he shook his head at her. Emily shocked him by looking away. She'd kept her poker face throughout her trial.

"Aaron Hotchner," she said to the wall.

"What?" he paused in his work, taken aback by her knowledge of him.

"The man who killed the Boston Reaper," she recalled the story, "It took me a second to place your face."

Hotch went back to work, and worked faster, offering no response. "So remorse is why you took the DA's offer to be holed up in this paradise for a dozen years when no jury would convict you?" she couldn't quite believe it.

"George Foyet brutally murdered only God knows how many innocent people including my wife and son," Hotch said in a steel voice, "Did he deserve to die? No question. Did I have the right to kill him? No."

"Well Mr Hotchner," Emily said in awe, "You are the first man I've met who's in prison because he respects the law."

Aaron swallowed the lump that had risen in his throat and went to back silently. Emily left him alone, seeing how hard this was still. Hotch scrubbed the floors till they sparkled. Then he went back to his cell and lit the two candles he kept there.

James covered the little heroin dispensing device with his hand just as Derek walked in. "Morgan," Rodney nodded. Derek didn't acknowledge him.

"Lift up your hand," he instructed James, who did not comply, instead keeping his eyes downcast. "Oh James," he sighed, removing a handkerchief from his pocket, "Don't let the fact that I need you to remain alive fool you into thinking I won't hurt you," he brought a strong fist down on the young man's hand, crushing the object underneath and causing it to cut into James' hand. The boy screamed out in pain. "Shhh," Derek handed him the piece of material, "Go to my cell. Ask Dr Reid to take a look at that. Tell him I referred you."

The young man stood up and left quietly. "No more Mr nice guy, huh?" Rodney smiled at Derek.

"He's seventeen years old," Morgan told Harris, "He's up for parole in two, he can be out of here by the time he's nineteen. He can still have a life," he hit the bars. The three men in the cell got to their feet. The two men behind Derek came closer.

"I'm just trying to make his life a little more fun," Rodney smiled.

"Send him a deck of cards," Morgan pushed of off the bars and walked away, two of his men at his heels. He went back cell. James found Reid in the gradually emptying kitchen.

"Hey, you Reid?" James asked the genius.

"I am not part of the local business," the doctor told him.

"Morgan said you could fix my hand," he held up his hand, bloody handkerchief side to Reid.

"Of course he did," Reid mumbled, leaving his task. Morgan had taken to telling Reid to do all sorts of inane things. Why was beyond the genius. "Let me see," he instructed. James removed the handkerchief. "I can take out the shards of... whatever the hell that is. Fortunately you don't need stitches and since I don't have a dispensary of any kind you'll have to wash the wound out with salt water twice a day to keep it from getting infected," Reid picked up a clean white cloth, "I have a pair of tweezers in my cell," he led the boy away.

When they got there Morgan was talking to Hotch. "Need something?" he asked Reid.

"Tweezers," the doctor answered. Derek took them from Reid's stuff and handed them over. "I'm conferring with my lawyer."

"He was automatically disbarred when he was convicted of a felony," Reid blurted. Morgan just gave him a steady neutral look. He wasn't as hostile any more, for which Reid was grateful, but he wasn't exactly friendly. Their cell was a weird state of benign dictatorship. "We'll go somewhere else," he hurried away with James, who was also scared of Derek at the moment.

"Found your trigger man yet?" Derek turned back to Hotch.

"No, I found something better," Hotch replied, "Little Rodney's allergic to peanuts. Drop dead within thirty seconds of consumption allergic."

"If peanuts make their way into his food the Italians will be blamed," Morgan replied to his friend's plan.

"That's why I need you to procure some peanut oil for me," said Hotch.

"Moving shit outside the system outside the system is a pain in the ass," Derek grumbled, "You'll have it in two days. I'm guessing you're going to find some way to get the stuff in his cell."

"That way they'll look for a member of their own group, fallout will be minimal," Hotch showed the true beauty of his plan.

"You're diabolical," Morgan smiled.

"Ironically I was called 'the straight Aaron' on the outside. I had to come to a _correctional_ facility to be a criminal," Hotch laughed a little under his breath, "Found the replacement yet?"

"The candidates I've looked at so far lack vision," Morgan sighed.

"And Rodney Harris has vision?" Hotch squinted at him.

"Rodney's a mongrel but he gets things done," Derek said grudgingly.

"William Harris seems to be a man of method," Aaron pointed out, watching for Morgan's reaction.

"I'm gonna feel responsible for whatever this guy does so I'm not inclined to promote a rapist," Morgan said with a look of disgust, "Now stop testing me, I'm not going to put any kind of rabid dog in power."

"Well then this meeting is adjourned and I'll send you my bill," Hotch got up to leave, "Be nicer to Reid," he said at the door. Morgan didn't answer. He slipped into his bunk and lay on his back. Reid was driving him crazy. Why did the kid have to be naked while he was in the cell. Morgan was absent from it plenty of times throughout the day, couldn't he shower then? And what was up with the doe eyes? He's a convicted felon for pete's sake.

Reid was just done bandaging James' hand when a fellow from the kitchen passed them. "Hey Reid, I need these returned to the kitchen but I have to hurry to my cell. Could you get it," he pushed the cart down a corridor and left.

"Thanks man," James got up and walked away too. Reid had pushed the cart about two feet when six men appeared out of nowhere. He tried to turn back but he was surrounded. This was bad. This was really bad.

"Hello Spencer," Tobias stepped in front of him, "I say an introduction is long over due don't you think?"

"Leave me alone," Reid said in a shaky voice. Tobias just put his hands around his throat and pushed Reid into the wall.

"Isn't this the prettiest little cock sucker you've ever seen?" the Aryan leader asked a man Reid had never seen before.

"I'll say," the man agreed, "But is he the best?" he asked another.

"First things first," Hankel turned Reid roughly and pushed him into the wall, hard, causing the young man to let out a whimper of pain. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. He'd bitten himself on impact. That sick feeling you get when you are in trouble and you know no one is coming for you was starting to suffocate Spencer. Panic and dread filled his senses. The Nazi pulled his belt to one side then the other and pulled down all Spencer had on below the waist in one swift motion. Tears started to fall down Reid's face as he was pulled back roughly and his ass stuck in the air. Hankel's newly freed erection slapped his ass cheek.

"As you hope to keep your dick I suggest you put it back in your pants," a cool, familiar voice said.

"Or what?" Hankel pulled his pants up and faced Bosola. The burly man didn't respond, just looked his opponent in the eye as his comrades started to fill one end of the corridor.

"Maybe some other time," he smiled at Reid and walked away with his followers.

"Careful Toby," Bosola smiled back coldly. The party dispersed and Reid pulled squatted to retrieve his pants. The enforcer motioned with his head for his men to get out of sight. "Are you okay?" he asked as Reid fastened his belt. The young man just turned and threw himself into Bosola's chest, wrapping his arms tightly around the man's thick neck.

"Thank you," he breathed. The enforcer just smiled and wrapped his arms around Reid's slight frame. They stayed that way for a moment till the hitman started stroking Reid's back. Spencer's arms loosened and he stood flat on his feet, looking into Bosola's eyes. The older man moved in slowly and kissed Spencer softly. Reid kissed back. His heart rate started to climb again but not to its previous painful frenzy. Garcia wolf whistled as she walked passed them. It startled them apart. They looked at each other then. "I have to go," Reid pointed but didn't move.

"I'll walk you," Bosola said coolly. They walked in silence. Spencer had his hands in his pockets and was concentrating on his feet.

"I feel a little weird right now," Reid explained when they got to his cell.

"I understand," Bosola rubbed his upper arm then walked away. Spencer rushed into his cell and washed his face. He was breathing so fast black spots started to form in his vision.

"Sit down," Derek put his hand on Spencer's shoulder, pushing him onto the floor. Reid folded easily onto the floor, his bones already felt like rubber. "Put your head between your knees," he pushed the young man's knees up and his head down. Morgan squatted next to him and rubbed his back as his breathing slowly went back to normal.

"Thanks," Spencer said, confusion plain on his face. What interactions they'd had in the past week involved Morgan groaning or speaking through gritted teeth.

"Got clean cold turkey?" Morgan guessed. Reid nodded. "White knuckling it is not a viable solution in this drug den. I do have something that will help," he said. Reid looked at him with these huge, hopeful, painfully lost eyes. "Meet James Barfield," pointed to a kid sitting in the corner, "He struggles with a heroin addiction and lacks a high school education. My previous methods of keeping him away from it were a little heavy handed. You were a practising MD by the tender age of twenty one. Michaelangelo," he pointed at Reid, "Sistine Chapel," he pointed at James, "You're gonna keep each other clean."

The two young man looked at each other. Derek walked out and left them to their task without asking if either would participate. They would.

Bosola, on his way past Hotch's cell, was called in for a 'friendly chat'. "Who do you need my services for?" he asked the dark haired man.

"Stephen Baleman," Hotch replied.

"I'll need half my usual fee upfront," the enforcer agreed readily.

"Firstly, I don't want Baleman dead, just... diminished," Aaron clarified, "Secondly, I never pay for something I can get for free."

"And I'm going to diminish Baleman for free, why?" the enforcer was intrigued.

"Because an unimpeachable source informed me that he trapped Reid in a small passage with a bunch of Nazis," Hotch told him. Bosola nodded and left.

"Bosola," Hotch called him in a warning tone.

"Diminished, not dead," he nodded, "I heard you."

Hotch took out Emily Prentiss's case. Something was not adding up with that one. "Baleman?" Morgan poked his head into Hotch's cell. James had come to Derek and told him what he'd seen. The Mafia stopped anything serious from happening but Morgan felt Baleman needed to take responsibility for his part in the near gang rape of Spencer Reid. Of course he couldn't do that hands on so he'd gone through his lawyer.

"I passed your message to the appropriate party," Hotch answered, "No promises pertaining to his actions."

"Bosola won't kill Baleman. He is just not that nice," Morgan smiled, "He knows a thing or two about decreasing someone's quality of life."

"I wouldn't want to be your enemy," Hotch looked up at Morgan, "Good thing Reid has you for a friend," he smiled.

"Shut up," Morgan turned and left. Hotch smiled a tiny smile and shook his head. Morgan was a mean SOB but there was no one better to have in your corner.


	4. Chapter 4

Warden Strauss was having a bad day. Her breakfast had burned, her youngest would not buckle up on the ride to school and she'd spilled her coffee trying to get him to cooperate, her eighteen year old daughter wanted to rent an apartment with a boy instead of living in a college dorm and she got to work to find the infirmary in an uproar. A prisoner had his arm stuck in a meat grinder and they were doing their best to get him into an ambulance with the machine still attached because they weren't equipped to deal with this kind of trauma.

"What the hell happened?" she asked the doctor.

"An accident, he claims," one of the orderlies shrugged.

"I'm sure he tripped and his hand fell into a meat grinder then he fell asleep while it chewed its way up his arm," Strauss glared, "Dope him up, I want to talk to him," she told the doctor.

"We can't spare the time," the doctor shook his head, "We need to cut that thing off his arm and see what bones we can salvage."

"That is an expensive machine," the warden objected, "You want me to wreck it on the possibility of saving a rapists arm."

"No, I am telling you that it has to be sawed off to save my patient's limb," the doctor asserted, "As a doctor I'm in the business of saving lives. I don't decide who gets to be saved. I don't decide who deserves better treatment. The falls on the wicked and the just."

"Do not site scripture at me," Strauss turned on her heel, "Bring everyone who interacted with Baleman this morning and yesterday to me," she instructed a CO, "I want all the big players in my office as well. At least one of them knows something about this."

And so it went. One by one they were rounded up and made to sit outside Strauss's office, under the watchful gaze of two correctional officers. Spencer was the first inside. He entered and stood by the door, frightened by the prospect of somehow offending the warden. "Please sit down Dr Reid," Strauss gestured to a chair. Reid sat down in silence and looked at his lap. "How well did you know Baleman?" she asked.

"I didn't even know his name," Spencer answered, "I keep to myself as much as I can. I think the fewer people who know me, the greater my chances of surviving the next three days but I do know his face. I have an eidetic memory so that kind of stuck in there but I can't say I know the guy... at all."

"Well," Strauss started.

"Also, don't take my nervous demeanor as a sign of guilt I am just a nervous person. I tend to ramble, especially when addressing figures of authority. It's why my performance at oral exams is so mediocre," Spencer rambled, "And prison has raised my resting heartbeat by at least twenty five beats per minute and-"

"Breath Dr Reid," Strauss gave him a glass of water. There was no way this kid had anything to do with shoving a man's arm into a machine. He just didn't have the kind of malice it took to even pay someone else to do it. She could see that. Spencer took the glass and drank it, not pausing till it was empty. Then he put it down and panted like he had just run a mile. "I don't believe you did this, I don't believe you arranged it either. It's curious though," she leaned back, "You're the person this most benefits."

"How?" Reid met her eyes with genuine confusion.

"If you were any other prisoner I would think you were trying to gauge how much I know but from what I've witnessed so far I'll conclude you're just not as street smart as you are book smart," she shook her head for the poor kid, he'd have to wise up if he was to survive his sentence, "If the rumours are true, you're the person with the motive for and the most to gain from Baleman's injury. Tell me Dr Reid, who's looking out for you?"

And with a simple aversion of his eyes, Reid gave away his hand. "So you know who it is," the warden concluded, "Tell me," she instructed, all the warmth gone from her in a flash. Spencer bit his lip and exercised his right to remain silent. "Tell me and I'll say I got it elsewhere. Sit there quietly and I'll wring it out of someone else and have it circulated that you told me."

Reid let out a whimper. He took a deep breath and let it out before he started talking. "I'm not built for this environment," he admitted, "I'm skinny, I have the upper body strength of a hamster, I don't have a poker face, I talk too much... I find it difficult to sit in front of an authority figure and not tell them exactly what they want to hear. I will never survive this on my own. The way I see it: I can either trust you to keep me safe or I can trust the unnamed party we're talking about. Sorry Warden but you're a bad bet."

"You think trusting a con is a safe bet?" Strauss arched a brow.

"I think you go home at night," Spencer replied, "May I go now?"

"You're free to leave," the warden pointed to a the door, her smile back in place. Bargaining positions changed quickly in prison. Reid's could change before the day was over. Next inside was Hotch.

"How long till you're eligible for parole?" Strauss scratched her head in mock confusion.

"Don't even start down that road," Hotch answered, "Moving up my parole date by putting a target on my back just gets me dead, not free."

"That isn't at all what I was going to say," the blond shook her head, "Reid could very well be your third strike. It's in your best interest to watch his best interest."

"I have some mopping to do Warden," Hotch said in an annoyed tone, "Quit shuffling and deal."

"I think you're behind Baleman's arm being turned into hamburger," Strauss told him.

"Got any proof to go with that thought?" he asked. The warden glared and said nothing. "Feel free to drag me back in here when you find something."

Strauss resisted the urge to bluff. Aaron Hotchner was not some punk she could threaten into giving her information. He had to be involved somehow. "Watch him," she instructed a CO, "I want to know who he's talking to."

"Derek Morgan," she received her third visitor of the day, "What can you tell me about Stephen Baleman's 'accident'?"

"Now you're just being racist," Morgan replied, "And you really need to stop hauling me in here every time some white boy stubs his toe."

"I feel obligated to," Strauss shrugged, "The bold line between black and white makes my life enough of a misery without going unchecked."

"There are like three black men in the kitchen and none of them are mine," Morgan shrugged right back, "One of them is Rodney's but very low level. Haul him in and here he'll whistle the same tune I am. Now would you let me out of here, I missed Days of our lives yesterday I was really hoping to catch the repeat."

"He's here," Lynch pushed Hankel into the room.

"Why do you want me in here with this fucking nigger?" the Aryan leader asked.

"To get that reaction from you and a more interested one from me," Derek explained in a bored voice, "Are we done with this exercise?"

"Since when are you a brain trust?" Tobias turned to Morgan.

"Compared to white trash like you? Let's say the dawn of time," Derek smirked.

"You best watch who you're calling trash boy," Tobias moved forward but Kevin placed a firm hand on his shoulder, "Better not wind up on the wrong side of the fence," the Nazi sneered.

"I'd warn you about winding up on the wrong side of the evolutionary curve but it seems I am too late," Morgan stood up. He felt oddly relaxed today and wasn't about to get riled up because Strauss thought it smart to pit them against each other.

"You're gonna pay for that smart mouth you dumb nigger," Tobias curled his lip.

"You can take that threat and shove it up your pure white ass," Morgan kept himself in check, "I'm gonna go," he turned to Strauss as he pointed over his shoulder, "It seems you're double booked."

Strauss instructed Kevin to remove Morgan with a flick of her wrist. "Sit down Tobias and give me something useful or I'll ship your ass to solitary."

"You can't do that," he slammed his hands onto the back of the chair he was meant to sit in.

"Wanna bet?" Strauss squinted. The two just glared at each other till the prisoner realised this was not a bluff.

"The wops crippled Baleman. That pasty killer wants the kid's ass and I guess he's trying to keep everyone else off it," Tobias shrugged. There wasn't much Strauss could do without confirmation from Baleman or a confession from Bosola. No chance in hell she was getting either.

"By everyone else you mean you," the warden glared. She had enough troubles with the race wars and the smuggling and the fighting. The rapes were just the least necessary.

"I take the fifth," Hankel folded his arms.

"Get out," Strauss sensed she had gotten all she would out of this prisoner, "Get me Rossi," she instructed Kevin.

"Don't you mean Bosola?" Lynch wasn't sure he'd heard right.

"God no," Strauss sighed, "Every time I have that man in here he sits in that chair and stares at me with the same expression and does not move. I swear he doesn't even breath."

Kevin chuckled a little and went to retrieve Rossi. He asked him nicely like all the other guards did. And Rossi agreed like the gentleman he was. "Good morning Erin," he smiled as he walked through her door.

"Cut the charm act," she rolled her eyes, shaking her head slightly, "Tell me something useful about this awful mess that fell into my lap this morning."

"I hear Stephen wasn't a very nice guy," Rossi was being no help.

"I hear your enforcer is after a piece of ass and made an example of Baleman to keep all the other boys away," Strauss countered.

"No idea what you're talking about," the Italian concealed a smile.

"Take pity on me David," she put her hair behind her ear, "I can't have another incident going unsolved."

"Just because I like you, does not mean you can play me," he shook his head with an easy smile.

"Fine," she sighed, "Keep a tighter leash on your dog."

"I don't control Bosola. I unleash him from time to time. This was not one of those times," Rossi shook his head.

"Don't you dare," Strauss wagged her finger, "You are the Panama Canal of this prison. Everything goes through you."

"That's sweet of you," he pulled a rose out of his jacket and placed it on the table, "I hope your day improves."

"Get out," she threw the flower back at him but she smiled as she did it. He nodded and left. "I hate this stinking job," she laid her head on her desk. The statement didn't ring as true as she thought it would.

"Hi," Spencer walked up to Bosola. The older man was in the store room. There was minimal traffic seeing as it was inbetween meals.

"Hello," the older man responded.

"I don't condone violence," the young man told him, "I'm not under the impression that you'll stop but I thought I should say it for the record."

"So you don't want retribution for people who seek to do you harm?" the hitman asked.

"I wouldn't say that," Spencer shook his head, "I just don't want to witness the bloodshed."

"What are you saying exactly?" Bosola leaned up against a shelf. Spencer leaned up against the bigger man and started kissing him, wrapping his arms around his thick neck. Bosola put his hands around Reid's tiny waist, pulling him painfully close. The younger man whimpered, feeling the arousal growing between his partner's legs. He touched his lips to the cool skin at his neck, eliciting a groan. In a blindingly fast motion he was pinned to another shelf by two strong arms. Spencer was getting turned on.

"Wait," he thought he should speak up before the situation got out of hand, "Condoms," he panted, "We need condoms."

"Fuck," Bosola bucked into Spencer's groin, "I can get some but it would take a day or so. I don't think I can wait that long."

"Please," Reid begged, "I'll make it worth your while," he rubbed the other man's dick with his palm.

"That doesn't help me now," a big hand covered Reid's to increase the much needed friction. Spencer undid Bosola's pants and let them fall the freed his erection from his underwear. With one hand he pumped the heavy erection in his hand, with the other he fondled Bosola's balls. The blond man leaned back and groaned. He hadn't been touched by someone else in a long time. His knees weakened as his cock jumped under Spencer's skilled hand. "Faster," he instructed. Reid worked faster, squeezing the head when he came to the top. Bosola made a garbled sound as he coated Spencer's hands in cum. The lanky boy pulled some paper towels and wiped his hands, cleaning Bosola's manhood gently afterwards.

After doing up his pants Bosola turned Reid around so the thin back was to his chest. He reached into Spencer's pants and wrapped a firm hand around his prick. Reid shot forward but was held in place by the unmovable arm around his torso. He moaned deep in his throat, thrusting into the fast acting hand. "No one touches you but me," Bosola growled. Reid thrust faster into his waiting hand. "Say it," the blond demanded,

"No one but you," Reid agreed in a haze of pleasure, reaching back and pulling a tuft of blonde hair as he came. Bosola kissed the nape of his neck. Spencer reached for the paper towels again and cleaned the mess in his shorts before it could sink into the fabric. He picked up the wads he'd dropped in his lust and threw them all in the trash can. Bosola escorted him from the kitchen and kissed him in full view of a number of prisoners. Hotch cursed under his breath, Morgan slammed both of his hands against the bars. Tobias smiled. He wanted to hit Bosola where it hurt and he'd foud the perfect mark.

**AN: too drowsy, no proof read. Sorry update late. Stupid author chasing too many story. Main character also looking for trouble, no? Review (somehow they sucker me into updating faster. If u read my other CM fic u'll have proof). **


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: I am sad, no Miserable. The site is kicking smut to the curb. It's kind of all I write and mostly all I read so I'll hold thumbs that my stories are mysteriously overlooked and hope I'm not banned from the site. I have this aversion to change so I'll procrastinate for a month or so before I look for a new place to post and read raunchy tales. If you know any, please, please, please tell me. My heart is broken from all the porn I've lost. **

**On a positive note: I felt the readers of this story deserved an update (seeing as they are my most consistent reviewers). You are appreciated. **

Morgan pushed his tray a little harder than he had to down the line, bumping another inmates. "Hey, watch it," the guy turned around.

"Or what?" Morgan got in his face.

"Nothing, sorry," the wronged man backed off. Morgan put his spoon in the rice and lifted it, watching the clumps fall to his plate.

"Cooked till soggy," his lip turned up in disgust, "So what? You play grab-ass instead of watching the damn pots?" he cast a sweeping glare across the kitchen.

"Is something the matter Derek?" Bosola said with his usual cool smile, "You seem a little agitated."

"Just because we live in cages does not mean we like to eat slop," he hit his tray on the bottom, flipping it over and splattering something that bared the slightest resemblance to tomato sauce over Bosola and two other men in kitchen whites. The other prisoners hooted, hoping for a fight.

"Do we have a problem here?" Kevin stepped in. Bosola just stood there with his enigmatic smile and shrugged. The guard turned to Morgan.

"No," the muscled man raised his hands, "No problem at all," he stepped out of the line and went to his usual table. "Thank you," he snatched a tray from one of his subordinates.

"Aren't you sitting down?" one man asked.

"No," Derek said like they should have known this, "If I do that I might hit somebody. You know, seeing as my men are chatting it up over bread and butter while my markers remain uncollected."

"We'll get on that," the man who was no longer burdened with food got up and sat next to the debtor for a nice chat. The others started eating faster and stuffing what morsels they could into their pockets. It was never good to be idle when Morgan was in a foul mood, whatever the reason. The gang leader sat by himself, a rare occurrence, and glared angrily at the wall.

"Good afternoon Derek," Will sat down with an obnoxiously cheery demeanor.

"Why does every snowflake think they're on a first name basis with me today? Shoo," Morgan flicked his hand in his direction.

"I'm into JJ," he announced.

"Don't care. Leave," Derek growled.

"You don't even who JJ is," LaMontagne went on, completely ignoring the last part of what Derek said.

"Fine, I'll bite," Derek dropped his unused plastic spoon, "Who is JJ?" he opened his hands. Will tilted his head towards the exit. "The tweaker with identity issues?"

"The guard," William lowered his voice without going into the suspicious territory of whispering.

"So that's who you imagine when you play with your rusty trombone. Information I've always wanted. Go away," Morgan emphasised the last two words.

"I don't think about her when I'm... well I do," Will recalled a moment the previous night that involved the image of JJ in a plaid skirt that barely covered her ass and a white shirt about three sizes too small.

"LaMontagne," Derek clapped his hands, "You're getting drool on my food."

"Right," Will blinked away the fantasy, "What I do when I think about her in the privacy of my cell is beside the point. She's decisive, tough and at the same time she's sweet-"

"To you?" Derek raised a sceptical brow.

"No," Will admitted, annoyed for the first time during this conversation, "That is not to say I can't appreciate it. She's compassionate-"

"_Stupid_-ass cracker," Derek shook his head, "You have it bad for a guard?"

"I'm still better than you," Will declared, "Stupid though I may be, at least I'm not obvious."

"_What_ are you _talking_ about?" Morgan was getting _really_ annoyed with LaMontagne and his stupid smile that you could see beyond the stupid beard that covered half of his stupid face.

"Spencer Reid," Will answered.

"If you have something to say," Derek's hands joined his hands in front of him and his glare became menacing, "Come out and say it."

"You need to be careful is all I'm saying," Will said as non-confrontationally as he could, "I'm on the third tier and I can see into your cell reasonably well when there's light, not at all after lights out."

"Whatever it is you _think_ I'm doing-" Morgan started.

"I don't think you're doing anything," LaMontagne lowered his volume, "I wouldn't care if you were but if you don't start being more careful about the implications of your behaviour people might start getting the wrong impression."

"Thank you for your concern," Derek did not warm up in the slightest.

"No need to thank me. It's not for you," Will shook his head, "A king does not kill a king Morgan. A king's toys, on the other hand, are fair game."

"Noted," Morgan kept his poker face. There were a few other things playing on the tip of his tongue, none of them nice, but he'd caught Reid (why did everyone want to protect that kid) out of the corner of his eye, "I think we're done here," he stood.

"So do I," Will sighed as he watched Morgan go in the opposite direction, there was no way he could keep Derek's attention now, "Well that's my good deed of the day," he dug into his food.

Derek circled back (bribing two guards for a pass) and caught Reid coming around the corner. The genius walked right into him and stumbled. Derek caught him and pulled him to his feet. "Wouldn't want Bosola thinking I hurt his little bitch," he looked Reid up and down, "My arm might get mashed."

"Could you... please let me pass," Spencer tried to get around the bigger man.

"Do you have any idea what you're getting yourself into?" Derek blocked him again. "Do you?" he probed when it became obvious Reid wasn't going to answer him, "Bosola is dangerous. If you're gonna sell your ass for protection you might wanna consider a human being first."

"Like who?" Spencer genuinely wanted to know.

"Exactly," Morgan hissed.

"What?" Reid became even more perplexed.

"You don't know anything about anything," Derek elaborated, "Prison is a landmine. The very least you could do is open those big brown eyes."

"What do you care?" Spencer's brow creased further.

"I don't!" Morgan yelled.

"Then I'm sorry but I don't understand what this is about," Reid's hands went up. Before Spencer could react Morgan grabbed his slender hips and pinned him to the wall. Reid's eyes widened as Morgan looked from his eyes to his lips. The tall dark man backed off and turned his back but didn't walk away. "Morgan?" Spencer extended a tentative hand then clenched it into a fist and withdrew it, "Do you... like me?" he dared ask.

"What? No! I just..." Derek turned and found himself pressed up against Reid, "I just," he brought his face closer to Reid's. They breathed the same air, their chests rising and falling at the same time. Morgan let out his breath in a huff as he gave up his restraint and dragged his hand up the back of Reid's thigh. He used that one hand to lift the slight genius off the ground, running the other up the almost protruding ribcage, balancing him as he strode across the hall and pinned him to the wall. The kiss, when it came, was steamy. Derek pressed Reid into the wall, his growing arousal directly against Spencer's. He waited as Reid put his arms around his neck and leaned down. The curly brown locks brushed Morgan's cheek as Spencer connected their lips. As soon as that part was done Morgan dominated the kiss, nipping at Reid's lips, exploring the younger man's mouth with his tongue.

"God," Morgan growled as he ground into Reid. It felt better than he'd imagined. It got him thinking about what it would feel like to be inside Reid's tight little ass or having the boy look up at him as he was on his knees, swallowing his cock. Spencer whined, wrapping his legs around Morgan's waist, relishing the experience. "I want you," he dug his fingers into Reid's back, kissing his neck, "I want every part of you," he said as the young doctor moaned from his attentions.

"Morgan," the name fell from Spencer's lips like a confession, whispered as though to still keep it secret.

"The Nazis are coming," Lamontagne passed them in a hurry. Morgan backed off and put his hand in his pocket, grabbing his cock so no one could see it.

"Go that way," he instructed Spencer, "Run." The doctor did as he was told. His mind not having had the opportunity to process the events that just unfolded or their implications.

"What the hell?" Hankel was perplexed when he didn't see Reid. He was sure the boy had come this way. "What are you doing here nigger?" he growled at Morgan.

"None of your business Trailer Trash," was Derek's reply. Tobias took a swing, Derek danced out of the way and caught another Aryan in the jaw, sending him crashing into the wall. A third approached. Morgan grabbed him by the shoulders, pushed him down and met him with his knee. Two of the man's ribs cracked. He got up just in time to catch Hankel's elbow in the face and turned just enough to be hit on the eye rather than the nose. He stumbled back, one half of the room spattered with black spots.

He was fighting five men in total and they were just regrouping. He was up again a wall, a very bad place to be in this uneven a fight. Being a fighting man, Derek knew better than to lean against the wall and wait to be attacked. He threw himself at the weakest opponent he could see and they both rolled. As soon as Derek was sure he was on the other side he stood. The most sensible thing for the normal person to do in this situation is to run. When you're the leader of a prison gang, life is not so simple. Derek threw himself into the fight. From this position, at least he had the room to move.

Spencer ran to James (basically the only black guy he had any type of relationship with) and hurriedly whispered about the fight Derek was in. James wasted no time in tell Morgan's crew and they wasted no time in descending upon the Aryans like a swarm of killer bees. The rest of the Nazis did not just sit down when their enemies mobilised (especially since their leader was not among them). The Italians were not about to be idle either, as they were awaiting a strike from the Aryans. Pretty soon it was an all out riot.

It was beyond the guards to stop a fight of this magnitude. They cleared out and locked it down. Hotch, ever the sensible man, grabbed Spencer and dragged his confused ass to his cell. "Shouldn't I go to my own cell?" Spencer asked, because he was incapable of shutting his mouth in stressful situations.

"Do you know how many people use chaos as a cover for murder and how many of them want Morgan dead?" Hotch pulled a shank he'd taped to the bottom of his bed and sat facing the door, "You'd be a sitting duck in there."

"Thanks," Spencer realised just how right he was. He felt a pang of worry for Morgan (knowing how this mess started) but the man was still mostly shrouded in mixed signals in Reid's mind.

Will, being a southern boy with his wits about him, elected to hide. He did so in the kitchen, where he had the most chance of defending himself and staying hidden. Not wanting to get caught off guard, he went to take a knife. On his way back to hiding in the huge just emptied bin, he caught the glimpse of a uniform. He'd recognise those shoes anywhere. There was only one guard with feet that small. "Dammit," he cursed under his breath. "JJ," he whispered, reaching around the scrap of fabric hiding her.

She let out a small yelp as he pulled her out. "LaMontagne," the obvious relief in her voice brought a smile to his face. His joy was short lived.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?" William Harris discovered them.

"Nothing that concerns you," Lamontagne stepped in front of JJ.

"You wanna keep this nice little slice all to yourself?" The broad chested man circled.

"Finders keepers," Will kept cool. JJ reached for her baton.

"Oh you two think you have numbers?" he smirked. Just as he opened his mouth Will lunged, slashing clean through his trachea. The only sound that came from Harris was a gurgle as he dropped to his knees and a thud as he hit the ground.

"Oh my God," JJ covered her mouth. She had never seen Lamontagne do something so cold-blooded. She realised she never thought he had it in him.

"We have to move," he started pushing her towards his hiding place.

"Leave alone," she struggled.

"Dammit JJ you are trapped on the wrong side of the bars with violent, murdering rapists. You do not have the luxury of a moral stand," he yanked her arm and she let herself be led along. The kitchen rubbish bins were huge and had an unpleasant smell. "Get in," he gave her a boost. He then jumped inside and closed the lid. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"Like you said: wrong side of the bars, violent, murdering rapists and you just slashed a man's throat three feet from me. Why in the world would I be okay?" she hissed.

"I'm sorry I had to do that," he put the bloody knife down, even though it was gloomy enough for JJ not to see it.

"You didn't have to kill him," she contradicted.

"Yes I did," he stated matter-of-factually, "He was going to rape you. He was going to call others to do the same and I couldn't let him do that," he brushed her cheek. It wasn't something he did on purpose and once he realised he'd done it he'd expected his hand to be slapped away. He was pleasantly surprised when JJ put her hand on top of his.

The riot would last for fourteen hours. A lot would happen in that time, most of it bloody. "Good day for the crows," Rossi announced to Bosola like the kings of old. He may have been wrong about the century's style of cleaning up but he was most certainly right about the death.

**Don't forget to review. It has perks.**


	6. Chapter 6

"What the fucking hell is going on?" the warden yelled her correctional officers, "Did you morons not attend basic training? A fight breaks out, you shut it down hard and fast. You don't let it escalate."

"With all due respect warden," Lynch interrupted, "There are more pressing matters than berating us."

"Correctional Officer Lynch, I have a three missing Cos, two of them are female, and no way of searching for them. I pray to God they're hiding somewhere but we all know they're most likely dead or wishing they were," Strauss got in his face, "Because the riot has gotten this far the only choice is to send in SORT. As they have the authority to use any and all means necessary to take back this prison, I am not comfortable using them and that is moot because only the governor can make that call. We have to stand around here waiting for his eminence and nothing will make me more level headed when the governor gets here than berating you incompetent fools."

"God dammit," she turned and ran a hand through her thick blond hair, "Do any of you morons have a single viable idea that could possibly stop the governor from sending in the firing squad."

There was silence. A mob was always beyond reason even when it was composed of normal, semi-rational people. It was incomprehensible to even think of trying to do so with prisoners. There was no sneaking past upwards of two thousand of them. Really the only option was to go through them.

**CMCMCMCMCMCMCMCM**

"What happens now?" JJ whispered into the darkness, "I know I read about this when I thought being a CO was something you had to apply yourself at but I don't remember it."

"They're gonna turn off the water and the lights. Then they're gonna throw tear gas in here, shoot everything that moves and knock us out of this trash can," Will went through the process, "When everyone is incapacitated those who are still alive will be taken to hospital, whatever hostages are still on their feet will be set free and prisoners will lie on the ground till they're eyes burn out of their skulls."

"Yeah," JJ remembered, "How do you know that?"

"In another life I was a cop," Will answered.

"What?" the CO broke out of whispering.

"Shhh," he covered her a mouth with his hand.

"Okay," JJ mumbled behind a his hand as she pushed it away, "If you were a cop why does your file say you were vigilante?"

"You pulled my file?" Will frowned in surprise.

"I figured it couldn't hurt to know what type of criminal was stalking me," JJ answered.

"I made a deal," Will told her, "In return of the true nature of my job being withheld I had to testify at the corruption trial of two officers and could either serve the maximum sentence in a minimum security prison instate or I could serve six years and be eligible for parole if I serve my sentence in an out of state maximum security prison."

"And you chose this place?" the blonde cast her eyes around, even though they were in a dark rubbish bin.

"I was a small town cop, deputy sheriff," he shrugged, "Most of the guys I arrested were small time criminals and wound up in minimum security prisons around the state. Maximum security is implicitly more dangerous, yes, but no one knows me here. I have just as good a chance as the next guy."

"You testified at a corruption trial," was the part JJ decided to concentrate on, "What? Were you guys misappropriating funds?"

"You know what's wrong with small towns?" Will asked rhetorically, "No one gives a shit about them. Members of law enforcement have too great an opportunity to do as they fucking please because no one checks, not really."

"So you're trying to tell me you were corrupted by the evils of power?" the scepticism and disdain were clear in JJ's voice.

"There was a girl who was gang raped a few years before I got arrested," he started, "It was swept under the rug because she was poor and from the wrong side of the tracks and the bastards who raped her were rich kids. No one even opened a docket. I just... I talked to the sheriff about it and when he told me to back off I did.

"The girl disappeared and a little over a year after that the guys who raped her started to get murdered," he went on, "I was the lead investigator, caught her after she killed the last one, just couldn't bring myself to arrest her. Of course by this time the feds were involved and there had to be consequences to my actions. I figured it was the first and last chance to bring everything to light."

"Huh," that wasn't what JJ had been hoping to hear. She was really trying to find a reason not to like LaMontagne right now. She thought he was kind of cute, she'd been flattered by his advances and now he was saving her ass, in more ways than one. She needed a reason to keep her head clear right now.

"How did you end up here?" he asked, "As a prisoner I think I can ask if you ever wanted more from life without being condescending."

"I went to college on a soccer scholarship," she answered, not remembering when last anyone had wanted to know about her hopes and dreams, "Crushed my ankle in the car accident that killed my parent sophomore year and never played again. Couldn't afford college after that."

"I'm sorry," Will found her hand in the dark. He sounded so sincere.

"What do you expect from me LaMontagne?" she found his eyes.

"I don't know," he leaned closer, "I just know I can't stay away," he leaned in and kissed her. She kissed him back.

**CMCMCMCMCMCMCMCM**

"Derek," Penelope hissed, "Trying to be quiet."

"Mhhh," the man on his back groaned.

"Come on, get up, we have to move," she tugged on his uniform.

"Fuck," he rolled over and tried to get to his feet, "Where am I?"

"On your way to the dress factory, with any luck," Garcia groaned under his weight, "You dropped out of the sky with your charming friend Tobias."

"Oh, right, we fell over the railing," it came to him.

"Yes, well, happens when you fight," they limped along.

"Why are you helping me?" Derek asked, "Sure, we're in business but I need you more than you need me."

"I actually think you are a good person for some reason," Garcia answered, "Now can we move this the legged race along. I need to hide."

"Sure thing mama," Morgan tried to be playful as he upped his pace. The fall had awoken an old injury, "Where is my good friend Tobias?"

"Knocked him out with my baton," Penelope smiled. She wasn't a violent person but she hated Tobias and what he stood for, _and _she was perfectly justified, "He's out cold for the moment but he'll be up and pissed in a minute so I strongly suggest we hide."

"What's bit enough to hide us both?" Derek wondered out loud, looking for something, anything that would do the job.

"There's this machine we use to cut large pieces of fabric in the dress factory," Garcia told the man who had never been in there, "No one will ever find us in there."

"Let's move this three legged race along then," Morgan upped his pace even more. He threw into a pile of fabric next to the door, "I think I might have a concussion," he said in a dazed voice.

"No kidding hot stuff," Garcia dragged him under the machine and draped a piece of cloth down the side, "Don't fall asleep," she warned.

**CMCMCMCMCMCMCMCM**

"Please stop thinking so loudly you're giving me a headache," Hotch grumbled.

"It's impossible to think loud-" Spencer replied and stopped when his sponsor turned his head and cut his eyes. Hotch was leaning on one side of their cell, looking for intruders to one side and holding a mirror so he could see if anyone was coming from the opposite direction.

"Out with it," Aaron huffed.

"It's not really the most important thing right now," Reid shook his head.

"The most important thing right now is to stay alive. I need my concentration for that and you are screwing with it," Hotch said, looking into the mirror and past it, "So whatever is causing your brain cells to rub together and produce that smoky smell, spit it out."

"My brain doesn't-" Reid stopped before he said smell, because even to someone who missed two out of three social cues that sentence sounded insane. "In about five minutes you're gonna stop being my sponsor and my safety is... (giggle) gonna be in the hands of the man who's fucking me."

"Hardships of prison life," Hotch shrugged without looking at Spencer.

"It's not..." Reid bit his lip, "At this point in time, it doesn't feel like a hardship. It's just so fucking confusing."

"I have no idea what you're talking about but please, go on. This exercise is primarily about getting the tension out of this very small room," Hotch didn't see what Reid was confused about. Fear, apprehension, dread, these he would get, but confusion didn't make much sense to him.

"Bosola and I have a thing, I guess," Spencer elaborated, "I kinda like him. He's actually quite charming when he's not killing and maiming people."

"So you're gay," Hotch surmised.

"Yes," Spencer admitted, "It just isn't something I wanted to circulate that in here."

"Smart," the dark haired man nodded, "You'd be subject to all sorts of abuse in here. Prison is an open field for bigots."

"A closed society often has its own rules and even though they are usually primitive in nature not following them leads to a member being ostracised in some way," Spencer rambled.

"I think you mean killed," Hotch corrected, "Or at least beaten within an inch of your life."

"Right, because this is prison and not some village in the middle of nowhere," Spencer nodded, "Anyway I was pretty clear on how my life, at least for the foreseeable future, would go this morning. It seemed okay too."

"What happened between then and now?" Hotch asked.

"Morgan," Reid huffed.

"What about him?" Aaron turn his head for a second then returned to his post.

"He kissed me," Spencer's blood rushed to his face at the memory.

"So you like him too?" Hotch turned the shank over in his hand.

"I don't know. I mean he's smokin' hot and he actually seems like an okay guy when he isn't scaring the hell out of me but my mind never went there because he has given me nothing but frostbite since I walked through the corrugated iron bars," the younger man answered, "But then he really stuck up for me today."

"Hows that?" Hotch wondered.

"Well the Aryans tried to corner me again," Reid answered.

"Morgan got into a fight with Hankel and company?" Hotch's attention was diverted again.

"Yes, I don't think he was hurt though. I told James and he told Morgan's gang and they went out there to help and things got pretty chaotic," Reid swept a hand, gesturing to the ramshackle state of their cellblock, "It's made me see him differently. I know it's foolish to treat this like I'm trying to pick a boyfriend but I am, aren't I? Sure it's more complicated than that and I have to make a choice pretty quick-"

"No you don't," Hotch sighed in a defeated sort of way.

"What do you, what do you mean?" Spencer asked, unable to make any sense of what Hotch said.

"Derek was in a fight that outwardly seems fuelled by race and he's not going to tell anyone otherwise. It culminated into a riot," the dark haired man pointed out, "There's a good chance he survives the that. He's a strong fighter with solid backup but the SORT team is going to beat the hell out of him and Strauss is going to throw him in the hole for _at least_ a month."

"Oh," Reid said somewhat dejectedly.

"Fuck," Hotch retreated into their cell and wet two pillow cases. The masses were running towards them like they were being herded. The only thing that would follow them now would be tear gas.


	7. Chapter 8

Most people believe asthma is a kid's disease. You can't really blame them because how often do you see an adult having an attack? People think you outgrow your asthma. Really you just outgrow you pediatritcian and, more importantly, you figure out what your triggers are and you avoid them. Certain triggers, however, even you do not know about because you have no reason to. Very few people who don't take part in protests can say they have any reason to know how they would react to tear gas.

From the instant Spencer drew his first breath as the canisters were dispensed, he knew what was coming. "Hotch," he managed in a ragged breath, "In my cell- on the shelf- my shelf- is an inhaler-"

"Shit," risked a glance outside, "I'll go get it," he decided. They were eight cells apart and the SORT team was fast approaching. Leaving Spencer heaving on the floor, Hotch crouched and kept as close as to the wall possible as he dashed to cell number thirty two. He made it inside and groped at the shelves, looking furiously for the little device. "Come on," he threw stuff on the floor. The smoke-coloured gas encrouched. What he didn't stay to hear was that it was in small unmarked box.

"God dammit," Hotch knocked the remaining items to the floor. He got on his knees and started opening them and throwing the rejected articles onto the floor. Just as he was ready to give up he pulled the inhaler from the plain white box and dashed out of the door just in time to catch a baton to the side of his head and be knocked unconscious.

Reid crawled to the door, starting panic about whether or not Hotch would return. Before he could make it to the door, his hands were pinned and cuffed behind him. Spencer's brain sorted through the frenzy. He fought his instincts, trying desperately to calm down. He concentrated on breathing out, making sure to expel the 'stale' air, as this was the only technique he had at his disposal at the moment. The method was a good one, only there was no fresh air to inhale. Every time he tried to breath, he was met with the painful burn of filling your inflamed airways with a gas that doesn't oxygenate them.

_An asthma attack can be fatal if not treated_ is what Dr Reid thought as he faded out of consciousness.

**CMCMCMCMCMCMCMCM**

When Tobias Hankel came to he didn't know the prison was in full out riot. He didn't care. All his thoughts at that moment were on Derek and Penelope and retribution. He stood up and looked around, reeling from dizziness. "If I were a nigger and treacherous little bitch, where would I hide?" Hankel ignored the ringing in his ears. Straight ahead led to death row where no one could get in without a set of keys, straight back led to the day room and cells, up ahead and to the left led to the dress factory. "Prison industries it is," Hankel walked forward.

In said factory, Garcia was trying to keep Morgan quiet and awake. These two things were not blending as well as she'd hoped. "Go," he urged her, "Hide somewhere else."

"Quiet you," she shushed him.

"I can be quiet," Derek nodded, "But the sound of vomiting cannot be put on mute. I can handle one Nazi, no problem."

"On a good day Handsome," Garcia dismissed his protests, "Not on one leg with head trauma."

"Garcia, look," he stopped to wince.

"Morgan, you son of a bitch, I know you're in here with your little slut," Tobias kicked over the box of fabric Derek had thrown up in. Penelope's breathing hitched.

"Shh," Morgan pulled her head onto his chest.

"You wanna play hide and seek?" the Aryan started taunting, "Okay... Gotcha," he looked behind one machine, "No, false alarm."

Morgan pulled Penelope's baton from her belt. _Stop_ Garcia mouthed. _Relax_ Morgan mouthed back, snatching it from her. He rolled off the little platform and squatted on the side, waiting for Hankel's menacing approach.

"I'm gonna getcha," the blond man sang gleefully. He knew Morgan was injured. Just as Tobias was moving away from him, Derek felt his stomach curl and the bitter liquid he had come to recognise as a warning to stop and bend over started to fill his mouth. He wretched loudly, Hankel came running. Morgan could not have set a better trap if he'd planned it. Tobias was off guard and came at a run, Derek sat down and quickly stuck out his uninjured leg. The Aryan fell over it, landing on his chest onto a heavy machine. There was a lag in the fight as both men tried to regain their footing.

Hankel closed his eyes tightly against his own concussion. Derek stood straight for a second and looked around the room with hazy vision. "What's that smell?" he asked then his body succumbed to his injuries and he lost consciousness. The baton that was in his hand fell to the ground. The guard and the prisoner eyed it and then each other. Hankel bent to get it and Garcia dashed for it from her little cave. Tobias got to it first but his grip was compromised and he lost the instrument to his fair opponent. Quickly getting to her feet, Penelope struck Tobias in the head for the second time that day and knocked him out cold, not knowing she was saving his life.

He fell to the ground and the bullet that was meant for him hit her in the chest and ripped right through her diaphragm.

**CMCMCMCMCMCMCMCM**

"What's happening?" JJ gasped.

"This stupid trash can is filling with tear gas," Will was getting agitated, "And you seem to be going into some sort of respiratory distress."

"I'll be okay in a second," the petit officer assured, "I just to breath."

"You can't do that in here," LaMontagne realised. They were in a box that was rapidly filling with a gas it could not expel.

"What are you doing?" JJ asked as he pushed the lid open.

"Getting us out of here," he stepped on one side of the bin, braced his arm against the other and jumped out, "Come on," he offered her a hand from the outside.

"This is a not a good idea," JJ told as she took his hand and climbed out.

"There are no good ideas in this situation," LaMontagne caught her on the other side and pulled along.

"God, my eyes are on fire," JJ squealed, thinking of what Will had said earlier.

"This will help with that too," he dragged her into the kitchen, "Here," he gave her a dish cloth and started running the hot and cold water. He washed his eyes out with the cold and as she did that he put the dish cloth under the warm water, "Breath through this," he covered her mouth with one end of the cloth and his with the other. They bumped into each other because the cloth was short, so Will put his arm around her shoulders and held her close to him.

"Thank you," JJ looked at him with red rimmed eyes. For a second Will stood and smiled. A SORT officer was coming in behind JJ with his weapon drawn. Curling one of his legs behind hers, he tripped her and sent both their bodies to the ground. JJ screaming in surprise. Good thing too, had she not been recognised as female and therefore not a prisoner she might have been shot. Two SORT team members pulled Will off her. One hit him in the gut with his gun.

"No," JJ protested. Will shook his head at her. If she seemed to be consorting with a prisoner in any way it might endanger her life. So she stood there watching him getting beaten with tears running down her cheeks. Those who didn't know better thought it was the gas.

**CMCMCMCMCMCMCMCM**

David Rossi was a smart man. It's why he was in the position he was in. His father always expected greatness from him, always told him that he knew his son would be number one at whatever he did because no matter how large the jar, the cream always rose to the top. Maybe he would have been president if he hadn't been raised in a life of crime. So when he told his right hand man they should stay out of the fight and watch from cell but one that belonged to neither of them, he wasn't questioned.

There were plenty of people who wanted him dead. They all knew better than to try to get through Bosola. He was not about to give them the satisfaction of being shot by the sort team. Four people tried to kill him, four people died. Each time he'd move to a different cell. That way he almost got away with killing them.


	8. Chapter 82

"What have we got?" the eager resident asked the paramedic.

"Blunt force trauma to the face and abdomen," the paramedic replied, "Multiple fractures, internal bleeding. Abdomen is distended. We hung a unit of o-positive and saline."

"JJ," Will coughed out.

"Please stay calm sir, we'll see what we can do to find JJ," the doctor assured as the patient was unloaded, "Wife? Kid?" he asked the paramedic.

"No idea," the paramedic shrugged, "Prisoner," he pointed to LaMontagne.

"What?" the doctor jumped back a little.

"We didn't have time to stick him in an orange jump suit, he was dying," JJ got off the ambulance, "Don't worry, there's a guard present."

Just as the doctor was about to ask why the prisoner wasn't in the proper transport, vehicles with sirens turned around the corner. "We need to make space," the paramedic jumped backed into the rig.

"Take him inside, he needs emergency surgery," JJ said to the dumbfounded doctor. The ambulance bay started filling up with doctors, prisoner transports and ambulances.

"Head trauma, cerebral haemorrhage and oedema," Derek was announced, "Bruising indicative of bleeding around the knee."

"You don't know?" the receiving doctor asked.

"Kind of a high volume of patients," the paramedic gestured with her head.

"Page neuro, we need an OR," the surgeon walked beside the gurney that was rolling an unconscious Morgan into the hospital.

"There are two empty OR's and four non-emergent surgeries," an intern announced.

"Female, thirty, GSW to the chest, massive haemorrhaging," Garcia arrived, "We need the free OR. No way she'll last long enough to wait for you to bump a surgery."

"We need the other," Derek's doctor announced.

"Mr LaMontagne is conscious and talking," the senior attending noted, "Take him to the ICU and bump the quadruple bypass."

"Over a bowel obstruction, an epindectomy and jaw realignment?" the intern asked.

"Obstructed bowels become necrotic, that appendix could burst and patient 216 has an absess," the appropriate attending explained as they walked into the hospital, "If that thing bursts the resulting infection could be deadly."

"Wait a minute," JJ ran up as Will was put in a room, "You're just going to leave him here?"

"We will be putting Mr Lamontagne under anaesthesia," the doctor informed JJ, "A doctor will remain here to prep him for surgery. It won't take longer than that for us to get the operating room ready."

"Okay," JJ nodded. She hated hospitals, hated this painful feeling in her chest. She knew all too well how it ended.

"Where's JJ?" Will asked the doctor in his line of sight.

"Can someone find out who the hell JJ is," the doctor looked up to one of the interns.

"It's me," Jennifer admitted with a sigh, "I'm here," she brushed the side of Will's hand.

"Are you-" Will coughed before he could finish his sentence.

"I'm alright," she assured, "The doctors are going to take care of you, okay? I'll be right over there," she pointed to a chair on the side of the room, blinking away tears. She really hated this feeling.

"Is she his girlfriend or his guard?" one intern mumbled to another.

"That's not your concern," her resident told her, "Our business is the medicine. Unless it's relevant to that, we stay the hell out of it."

"Every prisoner must want a piece of that," one intern whispered back to the other.

"She doesn't seem all that concerned about them," the girl mumbled to her feet.

"Can it or go stand in the hall," the resident hissed, "The one of you who hasn't been flapping her gums can put in the trachea tube."

"Are you sure?" the intern took the kit as Will was being put under.

"Yeah, she put it in the last guy's asophagus," her peer reminded.

"You're ready," their superior nodded.

"Wait, wait, wait," JJ stood up. Some part of her brain told her she was behaving very suspiciously but _this_ she could not abide. "You're going to let what I'm guessing is a new student do a procedure they haven't gotten right, one that basically controls his oxygenation? Is that even legal?"

"This is a teaching hospital ma'am," the resident pulled her aside, "Mr Lamontagne is not in any danger. If this were an emergency I would handle it myself."

"This is an emergency," JJ pointed to Will's battered body.

"It's a controlled environment," the doctor said in as calm a voice as she could, "Your, uh, he will be fine."

"He's the prisoner in my charge," JJ felt the need to point out.

"Then stop acting like his scared girlfriend," the doctor advised. For a moment JJ stood there with her mouth open. She blinked away the shock of the accusation. Just as she opened her mouth to deny the allegation, the doctor walked away.

"God," the blond ran her hand through her hair. Will was unconscious so he wouldn't miss her. On her way to check on her friends she bumped into Kevin.

"Where's Penelope?"

"Where's Garcia?"

Each asked. They stopped and gaped at each other. "Who did you come in with?" Kevin asked.

"LaMontagne," she made her face as impassive as possible, "We were in the same place when SORT came in."

"Are you hurt?" he looked her up and down.

"I'm fine," she assured, "LaMontagne was beaten something bloody though. SORT didn't have to be that extreme."

"Strauss thinks the Governor is going to get sanctioned," said Kevin, "He should."

"In a no hostage state?" JJ was sceptical.

"The SORT team used excessive force," he said, "They shot Penelope for Christ's sake. She could die," he choked.

"It's okay," she put her arm around his shoulder. "She will be okay," he assured her. She didn't really believe that, neither did he. It's just what you said in these situations. JJ went to get some coffee and they sat down cradling the hot beverages in the waiting room.

**CMCMCMCMCMCMCMCMCM**

"Jesus fucking christ," Strauss growled, all the prisoners that hadn't needed hospitalisation were on their knees in the gen pop rec room with their hands on their heads. "I cannot put any of you in the hole because the hole is currently full. I am going to revoke all your privileges: no visitation, no exercise, no skin mags, not a single nip of entertainment till the investigation is concluded. Till I get an explanation as to why nine prisoners and two guards are dead, Welcome to Ad Seg."

"Gee mom, I hope I can still borrow the car this weekend," came a sarcastic mumble. There was muffled laughter. The warden silenced it with a glare.

"Rossi," Strauss called, "My office. The rest of you, remain as you are and think about your actions till I say otherwise."

"Somehow I'm always the first to get called into the principal's office," David said under his breath as he got to his feet and followed Strauss. There were a few chuckles behind them. "I'm sorry you're having such a difficult time," he caught up to her.

"Don't," she raised her hand, "Don't give me the prisoner with the heart of gold act, not today."

"I'm a convicted murderer," he admitted, "I don't think you're going to put me up for any sainthood no matter how many doors I open," he said as he swung her office door inward.

"I don't know about that," she chuckled tiredly, "You could be the patron saint of gangsters."

"Are you sure that I'm not?" he gave a light laugh.

"Sit down," Strauss sighed as she dropped into her chair.

"I would never do anything like this," he reassured her.

"There's no way that you don't know who did," she leaned back, "Must we always do this?" she sighed.

"Must we?" Rossi asked, "Eleven people are dead. There's going to be an external investigation anyway."

"I am the warden of Ainsley correctional," Strauss replied.

"Your actions are not the ones in question," he interrupted, "This was the governor's call. Let him handle the fallout. You'll go crazy trying to control everything."

"Oh look, I have a prisoner for a life coach," she rolled her eyes as she set down the pen she'd picked up.

"Prisoner, I may be but I understand you," Rossi reached across the desk and held her hand.

"You may go," Strauss withdrew her hand.

"As you wish," Rossi nodded his head and got to his feet. He went back to join the other prisoners. Strauss let them kneel there for more six hours. The guard had some fun making them straighten up when they tried to sit on their feet. Not nearly enough to satisfy their bloodlust but if anyone ever knew anything, prison guards knew that the penile system never satisfied anyone.

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"Lazy day?" Emily asked Aaron as he slouched against his mop for the third time in five minutes. A few of the well behaved prisoners were let out for one hour to do their assigned jobs.

"Spent eight hours on my knees last night," he explained.

"Sounds fun," she smiled with a small rise and fall of her eyebrows. Getting on your knees in prison had certain implications.

"Not nearly as fun as you might imagine," Hotch cracked a small smile.

"What did I miss while I was locked away in isolation?" Emily asked.

"Riot," Hotch answered.

"That much I gathered," Emily replied.

"I'm a little hazy on the details," he said apologetically, "I spent what little time I was conscious with my face in the tile and a very hard knee on my back."

"I'd kill for that kind of action," Emily purred. She rarely had good company where she was.

"You know, I don't think you would," Hotch stopped working and leaned on the mop, "I don't think you've killed anyone in your entire life."

"Are you flirting with me?" she asked with a nervous chuckle.

"You wish," he replied without thinking. Prison life made it necessary to have a witty retort for everything, keeping your game face and all. "Of all the things that have been nagging me this week the one I least expected to have rooting around in my mind was how a missing person's case that was never reported turned into the easiest death sentence conviction of the decade."

"Badly concealed evidence," Emily shrugged, "My case is boring. It's textbook. Lawyers sniff mystery and make mountains out of mole hills."

"Maybe so," Hotch nodded, "But we're practically on lock down, the people whose troubles I usually trouble myself with are in the hospital and I simply have nothing better to do all by myself in my cell than go over your case with a fine toothed comb."

"You have my case file?" Emily's shield cracked, her voice pitching in a way Hotch had never heard before.

"I like to read," he shrugged, "Why would that worry you?"

"It doesn't," her poker face was back in place, "Just shocked that a guy who can get a case file like mine under the wire would have this shitty assignment."

"I like my shitty assignment," Hotch confessed, "It keeps my nose clean, or as clean as one's nose can be in this place."

"Mine's squeaky," Emily rubbed it, "Hell I wish I could get a little dirt on it."

Hotch made a short sound in his throat then worked on silently. Emily stood at the bars and studied him. He was clean, polite, good-looking, annoyingly smart and, despite not being entirely innocent, had a good heart. "Hotch," she turned her back and let her breath out in a huff.

"Yes?" he used the excuse to stop working. His knees were killing him.

"I live in a cell block by myself," she turned back to him and wrung her hands, "I see two or three people per day and only one of them talks to me. It's just," she huffed again, "I'm."

"Try a single sentence Prentiss," he suggested.

"I want you to kiss me," she glanced at her feet once more, "That's all I'm asking for. Just a kiss, just once."

Hotch had never seen Emily this way before. Her veneer cracked the slightest bit for a few seconds every once in a while but this was different, she was nervous, shy. He put his mop against the bars and walked over to her. "Emily," he wrapped his hands around hers. She looked up at him with those dark brown eyes, open for the first time since he'd met her. They leaned towards each other and he cupped her face through the bars. _When was the last time I did this?_ One part of Hotch's brain asked. _Kissed a woman through prison bars? Never._ The snarky half replied. Their lips touched slowly, moving softly against each other. Prentiss moaned into the kiss. God, when was the last time she had done this? Without prior notification to his brain, Hotch's hand went to her breast, squeezing the mound and then running his thumb over her nipple.

"Hotchner!" the guard hit the bar with his baton. Like any well trained criminal he took a step back and put up his hands. "Am I going to have a problem with you two?"

"No," Emily tucked her hair behind her ear, "I asked him to kiss me, he was obliging a dying woman. No problem here boss."

"Uh-huh," the guard pulled his keys from his waist and opened the gate. Prentiss erupted into a fit of silent giggles. Hotch gave a nervous schoolboy laugh.

"I'm sorry for... groping you," he flexed his hand, checking quickly that his half-hard member wasn't making a spectacle of itself.

"Don't be sorry," Prentiss said under her breath, still feeling the phantom touch of hand.

"Let's go," the guard pointed over his shoulder, "Or do you want to kiss your girlfriend goodbye?"

"I'm coming boss," Aaron pushed the bucket. Emily covered her mouth to keep the laugh from escaping. "Get your mind out of the gutter," he mumbled as he passed her. Hotch was taken back to his cell and Emily sat on her floor laughing. When was the last time she did that?

Later that night, after a very unnecessary and rather extensive internal debate Hotch slipped his hand under his waist band and stroked himself thinking of Emily's lips around his cock, thinking of her looking up at him with those chocolate brown eyes. It was an exercise in self-control, considering Emily orgasmed three times thinking of him.

**AN: No Morgan/Reid in this chapter. Sorry, I got them beat up senseless in the last chapter so they are unconscious in this one. Please review anyway. It helps me get the magic going.**


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: Hello lovely readers, I am back at last. (And I'm back to school so time is pinched.) Rain and Storm: Thank you for bringing Doyle to my attention. Honestly I wasn't going to put him in this story but he is too good a story arch, I mean too great a danger, to be ignored. Let me ruminate on that first, find a place for the bastard. Maybe it's because one replaced the other but I can't reconcile Rossi and Gideon. My other CM fic, _But the love is real_, has Gideon (and no Rossi). Sweetteetwo: I hope your health is good and you are just blackmailing me. I will try my very best to finish this story as soon as I can. Cugi-teri: I will see what I can do to get Hotch and Emily some real action. It's tough with prison bars in the way but we'll see. Power of darkness: it seems like everyone wants Spencer, doesn't it? Really, only two people do. All the howling and whistling? Prisoners just like to make people uneasy. Tobias and his merry band of brothers. They give that welcome to pretty much all the white boys. It's about the power, not attraction. You know how men are about swinging their dicks. 80% of reviewers: I can't kill the bad guys. They add to the flavour. **

**To everyone who reviews, a million thanks and naked pictures of Reid and Morgan (and Hotch too, maybe Will and Emily and Jayjay and I'm getting carried away) to you all. Keep on. **

"Ow," Garcia groaned.

"Oh thank God," Kevin jumped out of his seat, "Should I get a doctor?"

"Kevin?" she opened her eyes and looked around for the source of the familiar voice.

"I'm right here," he held a hand, "You're alright."

"Are you crying?" she asked groggily.

"No, I just haven't slept very well and my eyes are watering," he swept his sleeve across his eyes, "How do you feel?"

"Like I was shot and then cut open with a knife," she touched her chest.

"Stupid, stupid question," the male guard slapped his forehead, "I'm going to get a doctor, I'll be right back."

"No," she tightened her hand around his, "No doctors yet please."

"Okay," he brushed her hair, "Is David Bowie really God? You said something to that effect."

"That might have been the morphine talking," she laughed a little then winced.

"I'm sorry," Kevin jumped a little.

"Calm down and help me sit up," Penelope rolled her eyes.

"No, don't do that, you just had surgery," the dark haired man let go of her hand and manipulated the bed so Garcia could be semi-upright and still supported.

"If I had ever considered taking a bullet for someone I tell you Tobias Hankel still wouldn't have crossed my mind," the blond shook her head.

"What?" Kevin's eyes widened in shock.

"They were shooting at him, or at least I hope they were," Garcia's hand went to her chest. "Whatever happened to rubber bullets?"

"I cannot believe they actually opened fire," there was an anger in his eyes she'd never seen, "And with such reckless disregard for-"

"Kevin," she held his hand, "Sit down, drink some water, breathe, I'm afraid you're about to have a stroke."

"How can you joke at a time like this?" he pulled the chair as close to the bed as it would get then turned it so it would be right up against it then sat down.

"Everything happens for a reason," she replied, "It may not be clear at first but it's there. You'll see."

"I like your optimism," he leaned closer, "I don't _share_ it but good for you."

"_You're_ okay," she smiled, "And... where is JJ?"

"She's fine," he patted her hand, "She's down the hall guarding LaMontagne but she comes in here every hour, on the nose. I'm using her to tell the time. My watch is feeling very neglected."

"I'm sure it's not nearly as disgruntled as your hair," Penelope mumbled, "What is that? Three days of grease?"

"Two," he shrugged.

"You're slimy," she smiled.

"And you have a big mouth, we all have flaws," he smiled back then took a deep breathe, "Penelope, I'm gonna ask you something and it's going to seem completely inappropriate and out of place. You shouldn't feel you need to answer right away but I'm starting to think if I don't ask this now, I'm gonna miss my boat and I don't think-"

"Kevin," the blond touched the side of his face, "Let's get to the question before you hyperventilate."

"Okay smart-ass, will you go out with me?" he looked at his feet.

"Really? A near death experience is what it took for you to ask me out? You couldn't have tried to feel me up before I was hacked open?" she folded her arms.

"No, it's not about-"

"I know Kevin," she brushed his cheek, "And as soon as I can sit upright, I will dress up so you can buy me an overpriced meal. And feel me up."

Kevin looked up and blushed. Penelope found it cute.

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"Mother fucking fuck," Morgan groaned as he woke.

"Mind your tongue," an authoritative voice chided.

"What the- mama?" he opened his eyes.

"Hello baby," she brushed his hand.

"You shouldn't be here," he tried to shake his head but it throbbed.

"And where exactly would your family be when you are in hospital?" his big sister asked.

"Hospital?" he tried sit up but his arms were heavy and his leg throbbed.

"There was a riot and you were injured," his mother brushed his hand.

"That cocksucker dragged me over the railing," it came back.

"Your language is foul," Fran shook her head.

"Jail does that to a guy," he sighed, "Where's Dez?"

"In the cafeteria, should I get her?" Sarah got up.

"Yes," Derek gave the slightest of nods, "Get her and go home."

"Derek," his sister hissed.

"We never get to see you," his mother brushed his hand, "I understand why you don't want us going to that place but baby-"

"But nothing," he said with finality, "If I'm here it means a lot of other cons are too. It's bad enough having Rodney know what you look like and where to find you. I have enemies. I can't have all these cons knowing you."

"Sarah, go get your sister," Fran instructed.

"But Ma-"

"_Get_ your sister and go wait for me in the car," her mother said in a hard voice.

"Thank you," Morgan said when his sister was out of the room, "I can't imagine how hard this must be for you. I'm so sorry."

"My little boy," he brushed the bandage around his head, "I am the one who's sorry. I should have been there for you, I should have known."

"You couldn't have known," he lifted his heavy hand and wrapped it around hers, "You did the best you could when you had too much on your plate. I made my choice, I made a lot of bad choices."

"You just wanted someone to hear you, someone to know that man for the monster he was," a tear slid out of Mrs Morgan's eye.

"Maybe I could have tried something other than locking the door and pulling out a gun," he gave a weak chuckle.

"_I_ should have heard you," she said in a fierce voice.

"And you did," he looked at her for the first time, "Don't feel guilty and please try to move on with your life. Please Ma."

"Stay safe," his mother wiped her cheek.

"You too," Derek squeezed her hand.

"I love you baby," she kissed his forehead.

"Love you too," Derek whispered. He closed his eyes as his mother walked away. If only you could pay for your mistakes on your own.

"Aww I love you so much," the CO who was guarding him poked his head into the room.

"You gonna kiss me?" Morgan asked, "If not, close the door."

The correctional officer rolled his eyes and went back to his post. Derek thought of that fateful night almost six years ago. It all spiralled out of control so fast. He has no idea why he went to that community centre. Maybe that wasn't entirely true. He'd gone there because Carl Buford had drafted James into the football team. No one else seemed to know what that meant but he couldn't bring himself to make the words come out of his mouth. So he'd tried to make that son of a bitch say it himself. He fired one in the air as a threat and the ricochet had killed the bastard. Manslaughter, slapped on top of imprisoning fourteen people carried a minimum of twenty years. In retrospect he should have just killed him and dumped him in the river.

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"Don't go," Will begged, "Cuff me to the bed. I'll be no danger to anyone. It might even be fun."

"Standing outside is not just about keeping the masses safe," JJ tried not to smile, "It's so I can keep you from being assassinated."

"I can live with the microscopic risk that someone may try to kill me. I live in _prison_," he pointed out.

"I still can't stay in here," she shook her head then looked down and bit her lip.

"What's wrong?" Will asked. He'd picked up a few of her tells.

"Some doctor accused me of being your girlfriend," she whispered.

"Aren't you?" he gave her a shy smile.

"I am most certainly _not_," she gasped but she couldn't help the way her mouth turned up at the corners.

"You could be, nobody would know," LaMontagne looked up at her from under his lashes.

"William LaMontagne Junior," JJ put her hand on her hip, "What's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing," he blushed.

"The doctor said your heart rate speeding up is a sign that you're in pain," she went over and picked up the morphine pump.

"I'm not in pain," he grabbed her hand, his monitor went into even more of a frenzy. JJ stood there unable to move. There was something captivating about the way he looked at her.

"I would lose my job," she still did not move.

"Jesus Christ I can barely sit up, you don't need to cuff me," he yanked his hand away suddenly.

"Doctor?" JJ turned and folded her arms, giving the most stern look she could.

"I think we'll be okay but stay in the room just to be sure," the young doctor nodded. She knew very well no one was trying to cuff anyone to the bed, "You want the blinds closed? I'm gonna have to do a full body exam."

"I'm a shy guy," Will smiled.

"Do you mind?" the doctor asked JJ.

"Not at all," she went around the room closing the blinds.

"Your incision sights look good, your abrasions are healing, your face is not going to be pretty for a while yet but you are out of immediate danger," the doctor said when she was done poking and prodding, "We're keeping you overnight for observation but after that we're sending you to the prison infirmary."

"Their food is worse than yours," LaMontagne pouted.

"Three days and no more," the doctor smiled.

"What the hell was that?" JJ asked when the other woman was out of the room.

"What the hell was what?" Will asked cautiously.

"You were fl- nothing, I'm leaving," she turned on her heel.

"She's giving us some privacy," the con sang, "I'm not sure why she's being so nice but she's giving us a minute to ourselves. Come over here please."

"Why?" she asked without turning around.

"Because I'm injured, this gown doesn't close in the back and I'm not wearing underwear," he listed, "I just wanna hold your hand."

Slowly JJ turned and walked toward him. She put her hand around his and leaned over. Unconsciously, Will leaned up and met her lips. Her hair fell into his face and he breathed in her scent as their lips parted and their tongues met. "This is stupid," she climbed onto the bed.

"Yeah, it is," his hand snaked up her thigh, afraid to go too far but unable to resist. She kissed the stitch below his eye, then the bruise along his jaw, his collarbone then up and back to his lips.

"That was quick," she said when she felt his hardness against her stomach.

"Ain't been touched in two years," Will said between kisses, "Quick's the only game in town."

JJ laughed as she straddled him. A deep moan rumbled in her ears he rubbed their lower halves together. "I can't believe I'm saying this but stop," Will sounded like he was in pain.

"What?" the petite blond sat up, putting pressure directly on his member.

"Mhhh," he closed his eyes, "We can't do this here. I want you, God knows I do but I don't want you to lose your job. How would I ever see you?" he smiled when the gravity of her actions hit her.

"I'm gonna go stand outside," she kissed the cut on his lip and dismounted. He let out a groan as he watched her slim curves walked away.

"Don't look at me like that," he mumbled to his angry penis.

**CMCMCMCMCMCMCMCMCMCM**

"Still on lockdown?" Prentiss asked Hotch.

"Did my tan give it away?" he smirked, "We line up for food in the Rec Room, we shower every second day on a rotating schedule and we hole up in our rooms for extended periods. It's like college without books or alcohol."

"Or sex," she supplied.

"Oh there's plenty of sex in Gen-Pop," Hotch scoffed, "Even on lockdown."

"You getting it on with someone?" she raised a brow with a lopsided little smile on her face.

"I don't, what's the term?, swing that way," he answered.

"It's hard to know, you've been a little chilly since you fondled me," she leaned against the bars.

"No, I have been reading your case file since then and every single time I try to ask you about it you turn to stone," he corrected.

"I don't take kindly to having false hope dangled in my face," she glared.

"You don't take kindly to _any_ hope," Hotch tossed his mop to the side, "Why is it that you don't want save yourself."

"Why is it that you want to save me?" she challenged, "I assure you there's someone else more worth saving."

"I believe that you believe that," Hotch was no longer so sullen. Emily was a little too specific with that one. She didn't say there were some, or others, or other people, she said there was someone. She was throwing herself under the bus for someone though how her death could aid another, Hotch could not figure out but at least he had a starting point. No wonder she got so pissy when he brought up her case. To her, he was interfering with the safety of someone obviously very important to her.

"Can we got off this topic of conversation? It's morbid," she grimaced.

"Murphy," Hotch called.

"Yeah," the guard poked his head around the corner.

"I think there may be a disturbance at reception and this door has some kind of malfunction," he told the guard.

"Uh-huh," the bulky man approached Prentiss's door and opened it, "That disturbance will be cleared up in thirty minutes and handle your shit," he shoved condoms into the inmates pocket, "Pregnant death row inmates ruin careers."

"Thanks Dad," he walked into the cell and was locked in. They stood there in silence till Murhy, and his footsteps, disappeared.

"How much did this cost?" Emily sat on the bed with her leg under her.

"One thousand dollars for half an hour and it's not even a sure thing," Hotch sat on the bed as well and leaned against the wall. Emily just smiled and opened her top. "Hey, I was just joking. I don't expect anything."

"I do," she leaned forward and kissed him. Swiftly, she straddled his lap. Like any man who hasn't seen action outside of his right hand in years his member sprang to attention. In a flash he flipped them so he was on top of her. Something in his mind told him he was handling her too roughly but she didn't complain. "Take off your clothes," she instructed impatiently. Hotch sat on his knees, shrugged off his blues and pulled off his shirt. He stood up and unzipped. Emily did the same. They were chasing each other to nudity.

He drew his breath in through his teeth, "Those are nice," he looked at her ample breasts.

"I'm sure you have a better adjective than _nice,_" she shoved him onto the bed and straddled him.

"Well, you're not _shy_," he stroked her thigh.

"No, I am not," she wrapped her hand around his length and stroked, "That adjective?" she kissed his neck.

"Let me see," he put his hand on her breast, stroked her nipple, "Ample, smooth," he kissed it, "Delicious," he put his lips around the pebbled pink flesh and sucked, teasing with his teeth. Emily threw her head back with a moan. She lined his cock up with her entrance and enveloped him. "Ahh," his head sunk into the mattress.

"What else?" Prentiss bit his ear.

"Hot," Hotch grunted as she rode him, "Perfect, awesome, wonderful, Naah can't think."

"Good," she moaned, "That's what I like to hear." She grabbed his free hand and place it on her other breast and moved faster. "Oh, oh, oh."

"I'm gonna-" his words were cut short by his orgasm. Emily's back arch, went rigid and repeated the motion till she collapsed on top of him. It took a minute for their breaths to slow down enough for their brains to have dibs on the blood supply. "Oh shit," Hotch slapped his forehead.

"Relax, I'm barren," she told him, "And I'm clean."

"You've got moves," he sighed.

"And you've only seen one," she kissed his neck and rolled off him.

"Why did you have sex with me?" he rolled onto his side to better see her.

"You're pretty, annoyingly smart and smoking hot," she ran her hand down his toned abdomen, "Why do you ask?"

"Because I like you," he replied, "You're hard to read: you disguise yourself as an ice-queen but really you're a bleeding heart. And at the risk of pissing you off, I'm gonna save you, and whoever the hell it is you're trying to save."

"Hotch," she went from blissed out to pissed off in a split second.

"I will not be reasoned with," he warned.

"Then fuck off," she shoved him onto the floor.

"I should have seen that one coming," he stood up and started dressing, "I'll be seeing you Emily."

"Wanna bet?" she hissed.

"Yeah, one thousand dollars," he winked.

"Ass," she swung off the bed and kicked him in the shin.

"I see you two had fun," Murphy said, all too pleased at seeing Emily naked. Neither of the lovers responded though. Hotch picked up his things and left silently. Prentiss got dressed as he did. She wasn't exactly shy. Murphy let him out and escorted him back to Gen-Pop. He couldn't save the last woman he'd slept with. He was damned if he was going to be in that position again. Emily did not want a knight in shining armour. Too fucking bad.

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There are certain things in life that you want to see. There are certain things you don't. One of them is an empty room. Waking up to an empty room when you're sick is the worst. Ask Dr Reid, he knows.


End file.
